


A Journey Into The Unknown (Which Shall Lead Us Ever Closer To Home)

by BlackUnicorn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Coming Out, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Warlock Dowling, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Families of Choice, Family Reunions, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Gabriel is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Getting Together, Good Parent Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Transphobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned The Them (Good Omens), Misgendering, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Past Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), References to Drugs, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Strangers to Lovers, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), a bit - Freeform, hes trying, kind of, references to homelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: Anthony J. ‘just call me Crowley’ Crowley is…content – his little queer café in the heart of Soho, his son, his best friend, his snake.Aziraphale is…existing – day in, day out, in the same job, with the same people, and the same half-forgotten dreams. Going through the motions.Never would their paths have crossed if not for a boy, a teenager, really, running away to the city in search of something better.That’s how it starts, anyway…
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short...I don't know what happened...  
> Now, in the tags it says misgendering: the first time it happens, the person doing it, doesn't know they're doing it, as soon as they do, they use the correct name and pronouns.  
> It also says implied transphobia: It's not made clear if that is actually the case or if the person is just ignorant.  
> There is nothing explicit in here!  
> Also, I couldn't not give Adam a (mostly) positive coming out experience...it's what he deserves. it's what we all deserve.  
> Anyway. Enjoy.

Crowley suppressed a sigh as he wiped down the counter while outside the rain pattered against the windows. Behind him, Belle was cleaning the coffee machine, cursing under their breath, as they were wont to do in any given situation.

It had been a slow day in the Space and the only people left were the Them – a group of teens that seemed to have nothing better to do than hang out in here all day, every day, all summer – and the kid in the corner.

The Them sort of belonged to the inventory at this point, spending all their time in the café, haggling over free drinks and stealing biscuits when they thought no one was looking, and as much of a pain as they could be sometimes, Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way. He just wished he could have had something like that growing up.

It was the kid in the corner that worried him a bit. Around 16, give or take a year or two. They’d come in earlier today, soaking wet and looking lost. Not the sort of lost often found in tourists that was fixed with a simple look on the map and a few directions, but the kind that hurt, the scary kind that took your voice while all you wanted to do was scream, the vicious kind that ripped its claws into you with no intents of ever letting go, the sneaky kind that creeped up on you, ready to strike when you least expected it.

Crowley remembered that sort of lost only all too well.

Crowley also remembered all the adults being up in his business and expecting him to be grateful for it.

The kid looked clean, well-fed, and their clothes seemed to be relatively new, so they probably weren’t sleeping rough, which was good. They had a backpack with them, almost bursting at the seams, a backpack they were clinging on to like a lifeline. Kicked out, maybe? Done a runner?

They were nervous, at any rate, stealing glances at Crowley as if they expected him to throw them out.

Making a decision, Crowley made a cup of tea and wrote some names and addresses onto a piece of paper, carrying both over to the kid.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted them, setting the tea and the paper down in front of them, “We’ll be closing up soon. D’you have a place to stay the night?” The kid stared at him with wide eyes, looking as if they weren’t even breathing, which was a bit concerning. It wasn’t fear, though, Crowley noticed, not really.

“Are – are you Anthony Crowley?”

Crowley stilled, his hands hovering over the table. “I am.”

The kid sucked in a sharp breath and started chewing on their lower lip, clearly desperate to say something, but no words came out.

“What’s your name?”

“Adam,” the kid whispered, lowering their gaze and letting their dark hair fall into their face.

Crowley nodded. “Do you mind if I sit with you, Adam?” he asked, carefully cataloguing the kid’s reaction and getting ready to back off at any second.

Adam shrugged. “I guess.”

Some part of Crowley would have loved to ask how Adam knew his name but…well. Anyone with half a braincell and access to Google could find that out. Besides. There were more important things to consider here.

“Do you have a place for tonight?” he asked again, sliding the piece of paper closer to Adam, “If you ever don’t, for whatever reason, these are safe places that can help you. Just say Crowley sent you and they’ll know what to do, okay?”

Adam nodded, looking back up at Crowley, their jaw set and their eyes brimming with determination. “My dad’s name is Gabriel Young,” they announced apropos nothing, knocking the breath right out of Crowley’s lungs, “He’s your brother, right?”

Crowley was aware that his mouth stood agape and his muscles had turned to stone, while his brain was initiating flight mode.

His brother.

He hadn’t seen his brother in over 20 years, not since – not personally. Sure, there were the books, but that was – that wasn’t – and, sure, Crowley could have reached out. When he’d turned 18, he could have reached out, could have looked for his brother, but – what would be the point, really? Gabriel hadn’t looked for him, either, had he? Had just left him to rot on the streets, Gabriel had. And it wasn’t that Crowley held it against him, he didn’t, except maybe he did, and maybe some petty part of him enjoyed the thought of Gabriel suffering through the occasional sleepless night, not knowing what had become of his little sibling.

Never, in a million years, would Crowley have expected to suddenly come face to face with his nephew.

“My brother,” Crowley’s mouth said without consulting his brain first.

“I needed to see you because…because they wouldn’t understand,” Adam explained. Crowley had no idea who _they_ were. “I thought – can you help me?” There was a desperation there, behind Adam’s eyes, that was impossible to miss, but there was also hope. The kind of hope only a young person can have, dreams not yet crushed by the weight of the world around them. A faith in invincibility and rebellions and revolutions.

Crowley both envied and pitied them for it.

“Does Gabriel –” _Does my brother know I’m alive?_ “Does your dad know you’re here?” Crowley asked, the words muted through the wall of fog filling his brain, dulling everything around him.

Adam shook their head and Crowley nodded in response, unsure of what to do next.

Distantly, he was aware of the Them getting up from their table behind his back, vaguely heard the choruses of “byes” and “see yas”, instinctively knew that Warlock was going up the stairs to their flat, probably throwing a curious glance at his dad and Adam.

He knew, without having to check, that Belle was watching them too and wished they’d come over and intervene, but also knew they wouldn’t because that’s just not how they did things.

Crowley opened his mouth not even knowing what he was going to say, but whatever it was, the world would never find out, because in that very moment the door to the Space was thrown open and two men walked in.

The first one, dressed in shades of white and beige with a cloud of curly white hair crowning his head, looked frantic and nervous.

The second one –

Crowley’s body was out of its chair faster than his brain could process, making him stumble over his own legs, trying to both get closer and as far away from the newcomers as possible. They froze, staring at Crowley, then at Adam, then –

“Eve!” the first man cried out, covering his chest with his hands, “Oh, thank goodness!” He was moving towards Adam now, pulling them into a tight hug, muttering words under his breath that no one but Adam could hear, while Crowley only really had eyes for the other man that was still standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on Crowley, as he frowned slightly.

“Raphaela?”

“Anthony,” Crowley corrected him automatically, “Anthony J. Crowley.” He gulped, trying to get rid of that pesky lump in his throat. “Hello brother.”

Gabriel’s eyes grew impossibly wider. “I – I don’t understand,” he stuttered, sounding confused, and no matter how much Crowley might have wanted to explain, to say _something_ , no words would come.

Belle was coming out from behind the counter now as well, their arms crossed in front of their chest and their ever-present scowl firmly in place.

“How – what – why are you –” Gabriel looked so helpless, standing there in the doorway, his eyes flitting from Crowley to Belle, to the blond, to the room at large, and back to Crowley. “I don’t understand,” he eventually repeated.

Crowley wet his lips. “Not much to understand, really,” he muttered, “I just…grew up. ‘s what you do, innit?”

“But why are you –” Gabriel tried again, growing visibly frustrated and apparently unable to get the words out he so clearly wanted to speak, “What is this?”

“This?” Crowley asked, gesturing at the room, “’s the Space. Says so on the door outside. It’s mine. Well. Mine and Belle’s. Well. Tracy’s, technically, but…” he trailed off, not knowing where that sentence was headed in the first place, but unwilling to let it roam freely.

“It’s a community centre,” Belle thankfully budded in from the side-lines, “A safe space.”

“Yes. That.” Crowley nodded in affirmation. “Safe space.”

Gabriel was still staring. Crowley could almost see the cogs behind his forehead turning, as he, no doubt, put together the pieces, except there was no guarantee on what the end-result would look like, and Crowley wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick around long enough to find out.

“And you’re. What. A man now?”

_Always was_ , Crowley wanted to say, _just didn’t know it back then_.

“Pretty much,” he answered, wincing at how thin his voice sounded.

“Right,” Gabriel said, stretching out the i-sound as he slowly backed away, “Right,” he repeated and beckoned for Adam and the blond, “Come on Evelyn,” he said Adam, “Aziraphale. We’re leaving.”

It wasn’t right. Adam was walking towards Gabriel now, as was the blond – Aziraphale – and Crowley knew it wasn’t right. Sending Adam back with Gabriel now seemed like the worst possible idea ever, and Crowley should – he should do something. Say something. It wasn’t right. But he couldn’t – he couldn’t –

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Everyone jumped at Belle’s voice breaking through the tense silence that had settled over the room. “That’s your brother, you wanker.”

Crowley grimaced. “Belle.”

But Gabriel didn’t seem to care for the insult, didn’t even spare a look for Belle, but instead met Crowley’s gaze head-on and said, “I don’t have a brother.”

And then they were gone, and Crowley was left standing in the middle of the café, his head reeling slightly from everything that had just happened, and Belle stepping next to him.

“That went well,” they said.

“Yup.”

“Wanna get drunk?” they asked.

“Yup.”


	2. Chapter 2

The tension was almost palpable as they drove back to Brighton, Gabriel behind the wheel and Aziraphale sitting next to Eve in the backseat, unwilling to let go of his daughter any time soon. Not after the shock of thinking he’d lost her.

She hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d left the little café in Soho, her eyes cast down and her hands hidden inside the sleeves of her oversized jumper. It worried Aziraphale. Of course it worried him. Eve used to be such a lively girl, passionate and carefree and then, bit by bit, she’d taken those parts of herself and locked them away, while Aziraphale had sat back and watched his darling daughter dull out into a mere shadow of herself. He’d let it happen.

_This is your fault, Aziraphale_ – he could still hear Gabriel’s words echo through his mind – _You’ve been manipulating her. I know you’ve been turning her against me_ – the calmness of his voice, void of anger but filled with such certainty – _For once in your life, Aziraphale, make yourself useful and find her_.

And maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe this was his fault. If he’d just been a better dad, maybe…

Suppressing a sigh, Aziraphale gently squeezed Eve’s hand with his own, relief rushing through him when she returned the gesture.

Maybe he could still fix this.

It was dark when they arrived, the wet streets glistening in the shine of the streetlamps. Gabriel dropped them off at Aziraphale’s flat, clearly reluctant to let them go but, fortunately, not arguing against it. It was better that way. Aziraphale was just glad that Eve decided to stay with Aziraphale, rather than her father’s house.

The flat was small and cluttered. Every available surface was buried under precarious piles of books, mugs stood around, both full and empty and all forgotten, a plate with half-eaten pastries towered on top of old newspapers and magazines next to the sofa.

“How about some cocoa?” he asked after they’d shed off their shoes and jackets.

Eve was sitting on the sofa, her back uncharacteristically straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as she shrugged. Aziraphale decided to take that as a yes; after all, everything was made a little bit better with some cocoa.

The kitchen looked much the same as the rest of the flat, a bit messy, a bit too much, but ultimately theirs. It had been one of the many issues he and Gabriel had had, back when they’d still been married.

Eve hadn’t moved when Aziraphale returned with two steaming mugs of cocoa, still staring at her hands, still very pointedly not looking at him.

“I won’t ask,” he reassured her, sitting down next to her on the sofa, close enough to be there but with enough distance as not to crowd her, “Unless you want to talk about it.”

Eve nodded, accepting her mug and cradling it in her hands. “I found him by accident,” she muttered into the curling steam of her drink, her shoulders trembling slightly as she took a steadying breath, “And I needed to see him,” she continued, “Because –” Her hands were shaking now, enough to almost spill the drink, and Aziraphale quickly reached out to comfort her, to make sure she knew he was there.

“It’s quite alright, my dear. You don’t have to explain.”

“I’m like him, dad,” Eve blurted out, raising her head to meet his gaze, “I’m like Anthony.”

Aziraphale blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, this certainly hadn’t been it.

“You’re like –” he began but cut himself off, trying to understand what Eve was telling him.

_Oh._

“I’m trans.”

_Ohh._

Aziraphale knew that his mouth was still open and his eyes wide as his mind connected the dots.

_Why didn’t you tell me?_ He wanted to ask, barely able to stop himself at the last possible second because that was entirely the wrong question, wasn’t it?

And oh – _oh dear!_ Eve – _is it still Eve_ , Aziraphale wondered – was looking at him, eyes wide and fearful and glistening with unshed tears, reminded him that he still hadn’t said anything, and that simply wouldn’t do. He had to fix this!

“My – my dear,” he began, voice trembling, “My darling.” There, that sounded better. “I do love you more than I can say, and I am ever so proud of you, and I thank you for telling me.”

The tears that had been clinging to Eve’s eyelashes were finally rolling freely down, down, down, her – _his?_ Aziraphale wasn’t sure – cheeks until they vanished in the collar of Eve’s jumper.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said again for good measure, “No matter what.” His eyes began to feel suspiciously wet as well.

He wasn’t sure who had moved first but he suddenly found himself clinging to his dau – his child, arms tightly wrapped around Eve’s body, breathing in the flowery scent of their shared shampoo.

“I love you too, dad.” Eve choked out, face pressed into his shoulder, “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Hush,” Aziraphale cut in as gently as he could, cupping Eve’s head with one hand, carding his fingers though her – his – hair, “It’s alright, my dear, it’s alright.”

The cocoa had gone cold by the time they separated, tears run dry and bodies exhausted, but Aziraphale felt that, somehow, something good was happening here. A wall, slowly built up over months and months, torn down with one fell swoop, making way for something new.

“Darling,” he whispered, waiting for his daughter – his child – to look up at him with red-rimmed eyes, “Is there a different name you would like me to use?”

“Adam.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale repeated, tasting the new name on his lips. He liked it. “Like –”

“Like grandpa,” E – Adam confirmed, a blush creeping up his cheeks, “I just thought, y’know,” he whispered, looking back down, “You named me Evelyn for a reason. Might as well keep with the theme.”

There were no tears left for Aziraphale to shed and yet he felt like crying once more. “Is that what you want?” he asked. Adam nodded. “Then it’s perfect.”

“Can you not tell father just yet?” Adam asked timidly, “I don’t think he’d take it very well. Not after what just happened.”

Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip, wishing he could reassure Adam, but – “I’m afraid you’re right,” he admitted, “But either way, I would never say anything about this without your permission.”

Adam smiled faintly, giving Aziraphale’s hand another squeeze. “Can I still go back?” he asked.

“Go back?”

“To the Space,” Adam clarified, “It’s a good place, you know. They have a community centre thing going on where people meet up to talk to each other and play games, and they have books, and they do movie nights, and I just…” He shrugged.

“Of course, you can go back,” Aziraphale assured his d – his son, a thought popping into his head, “Why don’t we go to London together?” he suggested, “Tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Why, of course. It’ll be great fun.”

Adam smiled tentatively, gratefully, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from answering with a smile of his own, something like hope blooming in his chest.

“I’m sorry I ran away.”

“I understand,” Aziraphale said, because he did, “All I ask is that you don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Adam promised.

It was a weight taken off Aziraphale’s chest, and, later, when he settled into his bed, he was able to fall into a dreamless sleep, free of nightmares that he might wake up to find his child gone once more.

_Adam_ , was the last thought coursing through his mind, _his name is Adam_.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley stumbled out of his bedroom towards the kitchenette, his mind filled with fog as he numbly stared at the coffee slowly dripping into the pot.

_Drip._

His eyes felt sticky, the sunlight shining through the window so bright it hurt.

_Drip._

His feet were cold. Bare. His toes curled on the wooden floor and he distantly thought that he should probably put on some socks.

_Drip._

Belle was happily snoring on the sofa. Two empty bottles of wine and an empty bottle of vodka were standing on the table next to the glasses they’d used the previous night.

Warlock had set out three mugs in a neat little row in front of the coffee machine, Crowley noted, waiting to be filled. Next to them, Crowley’s cigarettes.

He poured the coffee into his mug and grabbed the pack, shuffling over to the window and opening it. The familiar sounds of London came rushing into the flat, cars driving by, people talking and going about their lives, a dog barking in the distance. He sat down heavily on the chair and set the coffee down on the windowsill, breathing in the fresh air, allowing it to clear the fog in his mind at least a little bit, before he lit a cigarette. Was a nasty habit, that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to quit, just yet. At least not for good. And it helped. The nicotine, the coffee, the air. The sun was still too bright, but it became a little bit more bearable and his brain came back online while he slowly sipped his coffee and savoured his cigarette drag for drag. 

He had time.

Newt was the one to open up today and the chances of anyone wandering into the café before lunchtime were slim at best and non-existent at worst, and if push came to shove there was nothing but a staircase separating the flat from the café, not that Crowley felt up to putting out fires just yet.

He wasn’t hungover. Not really. Some part of him even wished he’d drunken more so he could forget what had happened yesterday. The other part was glad he hadn’t. Perhaps, all of this was for the best. Perhaps, now that he had seen Gabriel again after all these years he could move on for good.

_I don’t have a brother._

It hurt. Just thinking about it, hurt. There had been no disgust in Gabriel’s face, just simple apathy and coldness. Gabriel didn’t care. Gabriel had never cared, Crowley realised, and the worst part was that he didn’t blame him in the slightest because, after all, it had all been his fault, hadn’t it? The fire had been his fault.

Crowley shook his head, redirecting his train of thoughts before it gained too much speed, barreling into the wrong direction.

Draining the last of his coffee and stubbing out the cigarette, Crowley went into the bathroom to have a shower. The hot water washed away some of the tension in his muscles, together with some excess hair dye from a few days ago. Sometimes, he thought, he should just give in to biology and allow himself to rock the grey streaks he was born to have. Then he remembered that all the kids already teased him about being old and he went to Boots down the road to buy more hair dye.

When Crowley re-emerged from his bedroom after getting dressed, Warlock was sitting slumped over the table, drinking his own coffee and fiddling with his phone, while Belle let out a pitiful groan from the sofa.

“Morning,” he said, walking over to the fridge to get started on their breakfast.

“Morning,” Warlock replied, sounding not awake, exactly, but somewhere in the general vicinity of awake-adjacent, which was good enough in Crowley’s books.

“Fuck off,” Belle muttered, rubbing their eyes and sitting up, “Coffee!” they demanded.

“Yes, your highness,” Crowley mocked them but complied with the request.

Belle wasn’t that bad, really. They simply weren’t a people person, but neither was Crowley, for that matter. It probably also helped that, for the longest time, Belle had been his only friend. In a way, they still were. Newt was great, sure, a little bit awkward, a little bit shy, but with his heart in the right place, and yet after almost 5 years, Crowley felt like they were still barely scratching at the surface of their tentative acquaintanceship. Madame Tracy, a force to be reckoned with and, unfortunately, Crowley’s landlord, which made things a little bit more complicated. And then there were the kids, of course, who were, well, kids.

So Belle it was in all their brash and crude and grumpy glory.

Besides, sharing years of trauma made for one hell of a bonding experience.

It was a slow morning, altogether.

By the time breakfast was ready, both Warlock and Belle seemed to have fully re-joined the land of the living, wolfing down the eggs and beans and bacon Crowley had cooked up, and even doing the washing up afterwards without much complaint, while Crowley fed his snake, Lucifer, a frozen mouse from the small fridge, aptly labelled ‘Sacrifices for our Dark Lord, the Great Beast’ with a neat little pentagram drawn underneath. Our Dark Lord, the Great Beast gladly accepted the offering and Crowley liked to think that she was even happy to be here with him.

“Any plans for today?” he asked Warlock while Belle was taking a shower of their own.

“Not really.” Warlock shrugged, tapping away on his phone before adding, “The Them are coming over later.”

“Don’t they always?” Crowley retorted. It was a rhetorical question, of course.

“Might stay the night at Brian’s,” Warlock said, putting down his phone for a moment to peer at Crowley.

_As long there won’t be a repeat of last time_ , Crowley thought, but refrained from voicing it. Warlock was 16 and Crowley had it on good authority that that was the time to make mistakes. Still. It had taken all his strength to not freak out over Warlock throwing up in his car.

“Sure,” he answered, aiming for casual and missing it by a mile.

“I can stay, if you want,” Warlock offered then, because, of course he did, “I know some shit happened yesterday. I heard you and Belle talk about it.”

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Warlock,” he began, “It’s not your job to look after me. Other way around. I’m the guardian, you’re the kid. I take care of you.”

“I still care,” Warlock insisted, sounding almost petulant.

“I know you do, kiddo.” And he did. Of course, he did. Warlock was the closest thing to a son Crowley would probably ever have. “But I’m fine.” Or he would be, anyway. “I hadn’t seen my brother in a very long time, I didn’t expect to see him yesterday, and it didn’t go well. I’m fine.”

Warlock kept watching him for a long moment. “D’you know,” he said, “I think I rather fancy a night in. We can order pizza and watch a movie.” And then he turned around and walked away like the little shit that he was and Crowley was left with no choice but to accept, not for the first time, that this whole adoption thing went both ways.

It probably wouldn’t be the last time either.

Half an hour later, Belle was showered and dressed in some of Crowley’s old clothes, they both went down the stairs to the café, finding it almost empty safe for Mary who was sitting by the window, chatting with who Crowley assumed was her partner while her daughter was happily drawing on a notepad, and Tracy, standing by the counter and fussing over Newt.

The Them were nowhere to be seen which meant that they were probably in the back room, taking up all the space on the mismatched couches and armchairs, talking about God knows what, or, unlikely as it was, they had decided to venture beyond the walls of the Space for once.

“Ahh! Perfect timing!” Tracy exclaimed when she saw Crowley and Belle, “Would you mind terribly if I kidnap your young Newton here? I’m in desperate need of a companion for the day.”

Their young Newton rather looked like he would, indeed, mind being kidnapped, but since Tracy had asked Crowley, and Crowley didn’t care either way, he said, “Sure, go ahead.” Much to Tracy’s pleasure and Newt’s chagrin.

“Poor young Newton,” Belle commented with zero sympathy, watching the pair leave before taking their place behind the counter.

It didn’t take long for lunch-hour traffic to start, slowly filling the café with familiar faces. Friends sitting together in tightly-knit groups chatting and laughing and drinking coffee. The Them coming back in to take their usual place in the middle of everything, greeting everyone with a smile and a hug. Regulars gliding from one conversation into the next, weaving a net of familiarity between each table.

And then Adam came in.

Crowley did a double take when he saw Adam and their – dad? – enter the café, Gabriel’s words once more ringing through his ears. But the blond didn’t seem like he was out for trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. He was taking in the room with something akin to awe, soaking up the atmosphere and smiling happily. Crowley noted just how bright his eyes were, shining with delight.

“Oh, this is quite lovely,” Crowley heard him say before the man’s eyes landed on Crowley and the smile dampened. “Hello,” the man said, “We met under rather unfortunate circumstances yesterday. My – my name is Aziraphale. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Crowley.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, inclining his head, “I – I do need to apologise for Gabriel.”

Crowley blinked. “It’s – uh – it’s alright.”

“It’s really not,” the man said, “His behaviour was – was unacceptable.”

It took all of Crowley’s effort to bite back the “then he should be the one apologising,” that was on the tip of his tongue, instead focusing on Adam who appeared much more relaxed than the previous day. A good sign.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, just to break the silence.

“Oh, I should think two hot cocoas, one of these scrumptious looking chocolate cakes for me, and –” the man interrupted himself, glancing at the kid.

“Lemon cake.”

“—and a slice of lemon cake for my son, please,” Aziraphale finished, the smile returning, brighter than ever, and matched only by Adam’s who seemed to have grown a few inches at the sound of the word ‘son’.

“Two cocoas, one chocolate, one lemon, coming right up,” Crowley promised, “Take a seat wherever, I’ll bring it over.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley allowed himself to watch the two for a few more seconds, noting the closeness and ease they seemed to have with each other, before getting to work. They seemed happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale was glad he’d decided to make the trip to London with Adam.

The last time they’d been, back when Adam had still been a child, when Aziraphale had dreamed, when Gabriel had not yet been obsessed with his work, back, when they’d still been a family...He remembered the view they’d had from the top of the London Eye, the sun getting caught in Adam’s long and golden hair, the taste of the chocolate ice cream they’d all shared at the end of the day, remembered his own happiness at being surrounded by the people he loved.

It was different now.

Gabriel wasn’t there.

Aziraphale and Adam had sat side by side on the train, the sunlight muted by piling mountains of clouds looming over their heads, only occasionally peeking through. Adam’s hair was shorter and darker and unkept, falling into his face, but he was smiling again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And Aziraphale had allowed himself to hope.

The Space truly was a magnificent place. He could practically feel the love and care filling the air, amplified by the laughter of the people around him as they enjoyed their drinks. Adam seemed relaxed, leaning back in his chair and simply watching, a minute smile on his lips.

There was a group of teenagers, Aziraphale noticed, throwing glances their way, whispering among themselves, more curious than anything else, and shoving each other off their chairs until one boy seemed to surrender and got up by himself, approaching their table.

“Hi,” he said, a lopsided smile on his face, “I’m Warlock. You were here yesterday. D’you want to join us?”

Adam’s eyes widened slightly, glancing at Aziraphale who did his best to keep his expression neutral, before looking back at Warlock and standing up to follow the boy to the other table where he was greeted with a chorus of “heys”.

“I see your kid’s already being initiated.” Aziraphale jumped slightly at the voice behind his back and turned around to see Crowley standing there with their drinks and cakes.

“Well, that looks simply wonderful, dear. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Crowley muttered, walking over to Adam to serve the other drink and cake, before going back to his work.

The cake tasted as good as it looked, coaxing little hums of pleasure out of him as the rich taste of chocolate exploded on his tongue. Paired with the hot cocoa, it was the perfect lunch, and Aziraphale found himself getting lost in the flavours. Some part of him did wish that Adam was there with him to enjoy it, but one look at his son evaporated any such thoughts – there was a fire burning behind Adam’s eyes, one that had been missing for such a long time now, Aziraphale had almost forgotten what it had looked like. The other teenagers were nodding empathetically as Adam spoke, throwing in little comments of their own, laughing alongside him. It made Aziraphale’s heart swell with pride and happiness.

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but the café was slowly emptying, the people around him, one by one, trickling outside to go back to their ordinary lives, leaving behind a silence that still echoed with their laughter. It was a cheerful silence.

Before, Aziraphale hadn’t thought such a thing was possible, but here it was, and he in the middle of it. The only people left, in the end, were himself, the two people working tirelessly behind the counter, and Adam with his new group of friends.

“Oi, dad!” the boy named Warlock called out, “D’you still have your binders?”

“Somewhere, yeah,” Crowley answered, slowly walking over to the group, a dishtowel carelessly thrown over his shoulder, “Why?”

“We’re giving Adam a makeover.”

Crowley let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “Check the bottom of my wardrobe,” he answered, and just like that the five teenagers were out of their chairs and bolting towards the set of stairs in the back. “Don’t mess up my room!” he called behind them, but it was unclear if they’d heard it or not.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the little chuckle escaping him, drawing Crowley’s attention towards him. His hazel brown eyes glimmered with amusement.

“They’re good kids,” the red-head told him.

“Yours?”

“Warlock is – well. He’s not _mine_ mine. Long story.” He was turning away again, leaving Aziraphale to his own devices, because, after all, they had no reason to talk to each other.

And yet.

“Thank you.”

Crowley stilled, turning around to look at Aziraphale with a frown on his face. “What for?” he asked, gaze boring into Aziraphale who had to look away from the intensity of it.

“You were there for him when I wasn’t,” he replied, “When I should have been.”

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw Crowley shrug. “’s my job.”

“As it is mine,” Aziraphale said, “And I failed.”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing,” Crowley replied, “You’re here, aren’t you? Being supportive and whatnot. You’re obviously willing to learn.” There was a fierceness in his voice that made Aziraphale look up, a passion in his eyes that captivated him. “That’s not failure,” Crowley concluded, making Aziraphale blush.

“I have hurt him in the past.”

“Then don’t do it again.” It sounded so simple when Crowley put it like that. Simple, yet powerful. And Aziraphale appreciated that he did not try to make light of Aziraphale’s words, did not try to convince him otherwise, but accepted them as what they were and focused on what could be.

“You’re too kind.” It was Crowley’s turn to blush, Crowley’s turn to avert his eyes as he let out a string of disjointed consonants. “Speaking of learning,” Aziraphale continued, biting back a smile, “Adam mentioned books. You see, my knowledge is somewhat lacking when it comes to – to identities like his.”

Crowley’s eyes were still firmly fixed on the table. “Trans identities.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded, rubbing his hands against his legs. “Trans identities.” The term felt foreign on his tongue. Alien. But not bad. “I was wondering,” he moved on, hoping to overcome the sudden discomfort he felt, “If you perhaps own any books on the topic so I may – may educate myself.”

Crowley looked back up, eyes crinkling with something Aziraphale couldn’t quite read. “Course we do,” he answered, “Just – ngk – look. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but – we already don’t have a lot of books, so – we sort of have this policy where the books aren’t allowed to leave the building. We want them to be available here at all times to whoever comes in.”

That sounded very sensible, Aziraphale found. “No problem at all.”

“You sure?” Crowley asked, “I can give you the name of some websites, if you like.”

“I appreciate the offer, but –” _I’d rather come here_ , Aziraphale didn’t say.

He wasn’t sure what it was about this place that made him want to come back, made him want to stay. Perhaps the smell of coffee and chocolate hanging in the air, perhaps the music playing softly in the background, or the feeling of safety radiating from within.

_Perhaps_ , he thought, _even the company_.

It was hard to believe that this man was Gabriel’s brother, they appeared to be so fundamentally different – there was a kindness surrounding Crowley, warmth and safety, that seemed somewhat at odds with his dark clothes and sharp edges, but his smile was genuine and Aziraphale could tell that he cared, truly and unconditionally.

Of course, Gabriel had been similar, in the beginning. When they’d been young and foolish and in love.

“No websites. Got it.” Shaken out of his musings, Aziraphale directed his focus onto Crowley once more, he was smirking mischievously. “Come on then,” he said, “I’ll show you where to get started.”

The back room of the café was bright and welcoming, the walls lined with bookshelves. Crowley hadn’t been lying when he’d said that there weren’t many books to begin with, half the shelves remaining empty, but somehow the gaps did not seem hollow and they did not fill Aziraphale with sadness, but hope. There was nothing missing, it was simply not yet complete – spaces waiting to be filled. The mismatched couches by the windows were decorated with various pillows and blankets, the coffee tables covered in magazines and bowls filled with candy and biscuits. There was a projector hanging from the ceiling, no doubt for the movie nights Adam had mentioned.

Crowley went straight for one of the shelves, running a slender finger across the backs of the books, pulling out a few, seemingly at random.

“Here.” He dropped the small pile onto one of the coffee tables. “There’s stuff on LGBT terms in general. Trans identities. And a book specifically for parents with queer kids. If you need anything, give us a shout.”

“Thank you so much, my dear.” Aziraphale sat down on the battered couch, pleased with how well it hugged his plump form, and picked up the first book, expecting Crowley to leave, except he didn’t.

“Can I – uhm – get you another cocoa? Or – or a tea? Coffee? Water?”

Aziraphale smiled, gratefully. “A tea would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Tea. Cool. Yeah. I’ll – uhm – I’ll leave you to it.”

There was something incredibly endearing about the flashes of insecurity shining through the front of confidence and self-assurance Crowley had so obviously cultivated for himself; something honest.

Smiling to himself, Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s footsteps retreat while he started reading, soon enough getting enamoured by the wonderous worlds of gender and sexuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I don't know the names of any good books on LGBT identities and terminology and stuff so I left that open to your imagination...


	5. Chapter 5

It was getting late when the kids came back down from the flat, and they hadn’t been kidding when they’d said they’d be giving Adam a makeover. His hair was shorter – an actual haircut, rather than the floppy mess he’d been sporting before – wearing clothes Crowley recognised as Warlock's. A pair of light blue jeans with doodles all over one leg, and a black Henley shirt underneath a black and red flannel. They must have found the binder, too, since Adam’s chest was visibly flatter.

The other kids stood around Adam, looking immensely proud of themselves, which Crowley really couldn’t fault them for. They’d done a great job.

“Looking sharp there,” Crowley said, circling Adam to get a closer look at him from all sides, “How’s the binder feel?”

“Good,” Adam answered, sounding somewhat overwhelmed.

“Take a deep breath,” Crowley instructed, watching Adam’s face carefully for any signs of discomfort, “Okay?” Adam nodded. “Good. Keep it, then.” It wasn’t like he needed it anymore, anyway. “Don’t wear it overnight. If it hurts, take it off. If you can’t breathe properly, take it off. If it makes you uncomfortable, take it off. I can help you buy more, if you want.”

“Thanks,” Adam muttered, not quite meeting Crowley’s eyes, “Uncle,” he added, his lips twitching slightly.

Right. Uncle. That sounded weird. “Ngk…No problem.” On the other hand – “Nephew.” The smile unfolding on Adam’s face was worth the strangeness, he found. “Your dad’s got his nose buried in a book,” he told Adam, making a vague hand gesture at the other room.

“You can keep the clothes too, if you want,” Warlock said, “They suit you.”

“You do look good,” Wensley added, with Brian nodding encouragingly next to him. Crowley noted that they’d switched pronoun pins during the makeover-session.

“Thanks guys.” Adam lowered his gaze, blushing, before turning to Pepper. “I’ll text you about that clothes swap,” he said to her, “I should still have some dresses that might fit you.”

Pepper beamed, clearly excited. “We’re having a sleepover here on Thursday,” she announced, making Crowley blinked.

“Oh, are you?” he asked, receiving exactly zero attention.

Instead Pepper added towards Adam, “You should join us.”

“Sounds like fun,” Adam answered, smiling, though still clearly a bit unsure of the whole situation.

“Right.” Crowley clapped his hands together. “Let the kid breathe. Go on! Chop, chop!”

They did. Saying their goodbyes and scampering back upstairs, undoubtfully to cause some more trouble. Adam gave Crowley a look that almost spoke of gratefulness. Relief.

“Listen, Adam.” Crowley ran his hand through his hair, chancing a glance at the door behind which Aziraphale was still brooding over the books. “Will you be safe?” he asked eventually, “If you go back home, will you be safe there?”

He couldn’t forget the coldness in Gabriel’s eyes, the lack of empathy in his voice.

_I don’t have a brother._

He wasn’t quite sure how yet, but if Adam needed it, Crowley would take him in, would make sure he never had to go back, would protect him any way he could.

“Course I’ll be safe,” Adam answered, as if the alternative hadn’t even occurred to him which was, in Crowley’s books, always a good sign, “I’ll probably won’t see father until the weekend, anyway, and – and I’m not sure if I wanna tell him. I wouldn’t know how.”

Crowley nodded. “You don’t have to,” he reassured the boy, waiting for Adam to nod in understanding before continuing, “And this place’ll always be open.”

“Thanks,” Adam said, smiling faintly, “Uncle Crowley.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Get your dad outta here,” he said, turning away and trying to ignore the wave of fondness washing over him – possibly unsuccessfully, if Belle’s smirk was anything to go by. “Shut up,” he snapped at them, hoping that Adam wouldn’t hear.

“I haven’t said a thing,” Belle replied, still smirking, still looking smug, while Crowley gave them his most intense glare.

“You care about them, too” he muttered, getting started on cleaning the coffee machine.

“I really don’t.” Belle almost sounded offended at the sheer notion. Crowley, good friend that he was, elected to not remind them of all the times he’d seen them sneak extra food into people’s orders whenever they looked like they needed it.

Behind him, two pairs of footsteps entered the room and Aziraphale and Adam announced that they’d be going home now.

“Thank you ever so much,” Aziraphale said, glowing like a bloody beacon, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, to finish my readings.”

“Ngk. Sure,” Crowley choked out, trying to fight the heat rising in his cheeks. He couldn’t help it. Aziraphale’s smile was quite possibly the brightest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Bye, uncle Crowley!” Adam called out, all but dragging his dad towards the door, and Crowley could hear him cackling under his breath.

“Bratty little shit,” Crowley muttered as soon as they were gone.

“You like it,” Belle teased.

“I really don’t,” Crowley lied.

Belle, because they were a horrible friend, said nothing but instead walked into the library to clean up, audibly laughing at him and his stupidly foolish heart.

Because, yeah, maybe he did like it.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of thunder tore through the havens, lightning cracked across the blackened sky, and the rain hailed down onto the near abandoned streets of Brighton, as Aziraphale let out a soul-shattering sigh and turned his back to the window. The view of the empty shop wasn’t any better, really, but at least it took his mind of the fact that he’d forgotten his umbrella this morning.

He wished he could go home. 

His three other co-workers were busying themselves with wiping down the already pristine counters, picking up random books from neatly sorted stacks only to replace them at the bottom of said stacks, and tapping away on their phone.

The only one who seemed to be completely unbothered was Anathema, tucked away in a corner of the staff room, furiously typing away on her laptop and chewing her lip. Aziraphale envied her a little bit. Technically she wasn’t allowed back there but no one said anything against it.

Aziraphale sighed again.

It had been raining all day and the shop had seen a total of five customers, all merely coming in to find some shelter from the weather for a moment or two before being on their way again. And Aziraphale was bored.

He wished he could be in London again.

Working in the same Waterstones for some 15 years, serving the same kind of customers, walking the same roads over and over and over again, digging himself deeper every day, not even noticing the grave he’d created. All there was left to do for him, Aziraphale mused, was lie in it and accept his fate. Gabriel had been right and Aziraphale should have listened when he’d had the chance instead of chasing after his phantasy of opening up his own bookshop. He could see that now. Gabriel had seen it from the start.

_I will not stand by and watch you fail_ , that’s what he’d said and that’s what he’d meant and suddenly they’d been divorced with their son caught in the middle.

Adam was back in London. Meeting with his new friends. They’d be having some sort of sleepover, Adam had said, watching movies and eating their weight in crisps and chocolate, and Aziraphale was glad that his son seemed to have found happiness at last.

A lightning bolt ripped through the darkness outside, followed by deafening thunder, and Aziraphale was brought out of his maudlin.

Not long now and he could make the journey home.

Two hours later, the storm had let up a bit, he was walking side by side with Anathema, listening to her struggles with uni.

Sometimes he worried about her, the dear girl. Anathema was incredibly intelligent, mastering her classes without breaking a sweat, with a clear vision of where she wanted to end up. She stubbornly followed her path.

Aziraphale had stubbornly followed his path as well, except his path had been a one-way-traffic road with a dead-end, and that had been it. Game over, insert coin, but there was no coin left.

Game over.

But was it?

A mere week ago, Aziraphale might have thought so, deep down in the privacy of his own mind, but now? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

_You’re wasting your time_ , Gabriel had told him all those years ago, _yours and everyone else’s_.

And maybe he was, but this dead-end suddenly didn’t seem as hopeless anymore, not as final. There was a way out. A new path, narrow and barely noticeable, but undeniably there. And if Aziraphale examined that path just a little bit more carefully, he would, most likely, notice that it led through a certain café in London were people laughed openly and without fear, where friends were family, and the air was filled with the smell fresh coffee.

Of course, he didn’t do that. Not yet, anyway.

For now, he merely thought that the world needed more people like Anathema. Strong-minded and dedicated and not even considering the possibility that they might lose.

For now, he wished he could be more like her. Courageous and certain and confident.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Anathema asked when they got closer to Aziraphale’s flat.

“Gabriel invited me for dinner.” If Azirapahle was being honest, it had been more like a summon than an invitation, clean and short, almost clinical, every word chosen carefully and precisely, leaving no room for misinterpretation. 

“Have fun?” It sounded more like a question, but Aziraphale could still appreciate the sentiment.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, “Mind how you go.”

It wasn’t that he’d been avoiding Gabriel. That would assume his ex-husband had tried to contact him. He had, however, been glad for the lack of contact. Until now, of course. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to expect, to be quite frank. Would Gabriel want to discuss the matter of Crowley? It seemed unlikely. His words had been clear on Sunday – _I don’t have a brother_ – and Aziraphale knew Gabriel well enough to know that he was not one for sentimentality.

It was 7 o’clock sharp, when Aziraphale rang the bell of Gabriel’s house. Their old home.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s voice boomed, loud enough to make Aziraphale wince slightly, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

_How could I not?_ He wanted to say, but of course, that would be much too provocative, wouldn’t it? True as it was, Aziraphale was better off not voicing it.

In fact, he realised as he stood in the middle of the living room, he hadn’t said anything yet. Gabriel, on his part, seemed to not have noticed at all.

The house had changed since Aziraphale had moved out. Where, before, the bookshelves had been filled with stories old and new from all over the word, with knickknacks and trinkets and clutter, it now held books on economic and business theory, half of which were Gabriel’s own publications, the photos that Gabriel had kept after the divorce were nowhere to be seen, replaced by minimalist paintings that, more often than not, amounted to nothing more than a black geometrical shape on a white canvas. Everything was white and empty and sterile – their history, erased.

Aziraphale hated it.

“I trust you’re well?” Gabriel said, barely sparing a glance at Aziraphale as he went on into the kitchen where steaks were sizzling in the pan and potatoes baking in the oven, on the counter stood a bowl of salad and a bottle of wine; the kind that Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to afford if he spent no money at all for six months straight.

“Splendid.” Not that Gabriel would care if it he gave any other answer. “How about yourself?”

“Aziraphale,” his ex-husband said, and Aziraphale knew immediately that he was in for a lecture, “You will not belief the audacity of young people these days! Asking me for extension because they have work! Work! As if any of them have seen an honest day of work in their life!”

Aziraphale had honed his skills for feigning undivided attention when it came to Gabriel’s work to near perfection very early on. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, truly, more that Gabriel didn’t seem to care either way whether or not he was listening. Or perhaps, that wasn’t quite accurate either. Aziraphale got the impression that Gabriel couldn’t even entertain the possibility of someone not hanging onto his every word.

And Gabriel kept talking, his words sharp even as they blurred together, and only occasionally Aziraphale came out of his daze to hear something about the free market, cries for less regulations, and how Brexit would save the country from certain doom, while he did his very best to keep his hands clasped in front of his stomach, as to not fidget with the hem of his waistcoat. Gabriel didn’t like it when he did that.

Once the food was ready, they moved to the dining table, sitting at opposite ends and eating mostly in silence.

“How is Evelyn?”

For just a second, Aziraphale froze. Then: “Eve is fine.” It was strange. 16 years he’d used the name, day in, day out, without a second thought, and yet now, after merely a few days, that single word tasted foul in his mouth, like acid burning his tongue. “She’s with friends tonight,” he added, pushing down the sensation of wrongness that was creeping up on him.

“Oh?”

“A sleepover.” He did hope that Gabriel wouldn’t ask for details – he’d always been a terrible liar, after all. “This steak is simply scrumptious.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said, his voice dry and dismissive. Unlike Aziraphale, Gabriel had never much cared for food as long as it looked expensive. “I trust, you made sure that Eve won’t return to – to that place?”

Aziraphale’s hand stilled in mid-air, the piece of roasted potato slipping off his fork. “Gabriel,” he began, “I – I – Eve, she –” He wet his lips, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to speak clearly. “She was merely trying to contact your brother.”

Gabriel scoffed, sipping his wine. “I don’t have a brother.”

“Well, it appears that you do!”

The silence, following, was deafening, ringing in Aziraphale’s ears as his words echoed between them. They had come from him, clearly, but Aziraphale couldn’t, for the life of him, say how he could have let them slip out.

Gabriel was frozen in his chair, his eyebrows making a valiant effort of merging with his receding hairline, the disbelief written all over his face.

Setting down his cutlery with rather more force than was strictly necessary, Aziraphale pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “I think I lost my appetite.”

He almost expected Gabriel to stop him as he walked towards the door and out of the house, for a hand to reach out and grab him, for a shout to hold him back, but nothing came.

The air was cool outside and Aziraphale shivered. He must have forgotten his coat. Cars were passing him by, the lights bright and blinding. His lungs seemed too small for his body, his breath getting caught in his throat.

He shouldn’t have lost his temper.

He shouldn’t have talked to Gabriel like that.

He shouldn’t have left without apologising.

The flat was warm. Pleasant. It was also dark. Empty.

He wished Adam was there with him.


	7. Chapter 7

The back room of the Space was still standing when Crowley went downstairs in the morning, finding the kids huddled together on the air mattresses they’d pushed together, playing Cards Against Humanity of all things, and having the distinctive looks of people who had barely slept a wink during the night. It looked like they’d had fun, however.

They must have exchanged clothes last night, Adam and Pepper. A wayward skirt was still lying on the floor, next to a sports bag, and Adam was wearing a shirt that Crowley recognised as Pepper’s. The boy was practically glowing, Crowley noted with deep satisfaction. Happiness suited him.

“Anyone want a coffee or tea?” he asked the kids, taking stock of the chaos they’d produced and finding that it could have been worse.

“We were going out to get breakfast,” Warlock announced, smiling brightly despite the dark rings under his eyes.

“Right.” Crowley wondered how they could have this much energy, this early in the morning. “Just make sure to clean up this mess before you go, eh?”

He turned away without awaiting their answers but trusting that they’d do as he asked, getting the café ready for opening. He didn’t expect anyone to actually come in just yet, but you never knew.

It took about half an hour for the kids to stow away the mattresses and put all the pillows and blankets back where they belonged.

It took another half an hour for the door of the café to open and the first customer of the day to walk in – if what Aziraphale was doing could be called walking. His feet scraped over the floor, his entire body seemed to be on the threat of collapsing into itself, and his eyes stared blindly and vacantly into the middle-distance. He looked exhausted.

“The kids weren’t the only ones to stay up all night, I see,” Crowley greeted him teasingly and was met with a slow, owlish blink.

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing,” Crowley said quickly, fighting the frown that wanted to settle on his forehead. He couldn’t say why exactly, but seeing Aziraphale like this seemed wrong. “Adam’s not here,” he explained, “Think they went out for breakfast or somethin’”

If at all possible, Azirpahale appeared even more crestfallen at the news. “Oh. I see.”

“I can call Warlock, if you like.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh – no. No. No, I wouldn’t want to – to impose.”

Slowly, Crowley nodded his head “Can I – get you something?”

“A cup of tea, I should think.” Aziraphale smiled tiredly. “Do you – that is – would you mind terribly if I read some more of your books?”

“No. No, go ahead.”

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes still unfocused, as Crowley went ahead and led him into the backroom. He expected Aziraphale to take his tea and retreat to the couches there, to sit in peace and simply read, but he didn’t. He took the books and walked straight for the same table that Adam had sat at, the very first day he’d been in the Space.

“Do – uhm –” Crowley cleared his throat, standing awkwardly next to the table. “D’you need anything else?”

Aziraphale glanced up at him and answered, “No. Not at all, my dear boy.” The by now familiar smile tugging on his lips. “Though, I do hope you weren’t disturbed too much last night.”

“No,” Crowley answered, shaking his head, “I was just watching telly with Lucifer.”

The blond blinked. “Lucifer.”

“My snake,” Crowley explained, wondering if he should have maybe not mentioned that.

“Oh.”

“Highly misunderstood, snakes are. Get a bad rep.”

“I’ll – erm – I’ll take your word for it,” Aziraphale said faintly, taking a sip from his tea and glancing at the books in front of him, clearly eager to go back to reading.

Crowley wasn’t sure what to do. Never before had he seen a parent come in, just to learn how to support their kid. It amazed him, to be quite honest, and he wanted to spend more time with him.

There was something about Aziraphale that fascinated him.

He kept thinking about it while going back to the counter to twiddle his thumbs and wait for someone else to come in, or, preferably, for Newt to show up and put him out of his misery.

Aziraphale’s softness and the kindness in his eyes drew Crowley in somehow, a gravity field pulling and pulling and pulling him closer to its centre. There was something else. A nervous energy buzzing around the blond, waxing and waning like the tides, an electric current that felt a bit like looking into a mirror and seeing a distorted image of himself.

Aziraphale seemed calmer, sitting in his corner with his tea and his book. Happier, somehow. Crowley felt a wave of guilt washing over him at the teasing he’d done earlier; Aziraphale had clearly not had a good night and then Crowley had gone and not simply put his foot in his mouth but shoved it all the way down his bloody throat.

Way to go.

He should probably make it up to him. Except that could make it even weirder, so perhaps it was best to just leave it be. Of course, Crowley mused, eyeing the cake display, there was another option. Aziraphale had enjoyed the chocolate cake, hadn’t he? Crowley could still see him in his mind, eyes closed as he savoured the cake in clear delight.

Making the decision, Crowley brought a generous slice of the chocolate cake over to Aziraphale’s table and set the plate down unceremonially. “On the house,” he grumbled, trying to make a quick exit but coming to an immediate stop when his eyes fell upon Aziraphale’s blinding smile.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, as if Crowley had just personally served him world peace on a plate.

“’s just cake.”

“Still.” The blond pulled on his collar and tugged slightly on his sleeved before picking up the fork. “I appreciate it.” He gestured at a chair for Crowley to sit down.

“How’re the books?” Crowley asked, trying not to stare too obviously while Aziraphale ate.

“Oh, simply marvellous!” There was a fire burning behind the blond’s eyes, the very same fire that Crowley had seen in Adam, the kind that burned with passion and excitement. “I never knew there were that many options. And to think I spent most of my life being so utterly ignorant – why, I should thank Adam for opening my eyes.”

Coming from anyone else, Crowley would have expected it to be a joke, but coming from Aziraphale? It sounded earnest and Crowley believed every word he was saying.

“Although.” Some of the fire in Aziraphale’s eyes dimmed, turning to doubt. “I – I do apologise, my dear boy, and I hope you don’t mind me asking –” _Oh, here we go_ , Crowley thought, already steeling himself for the question on _what_ and _why_ and _where_ and _how_ and – “Gabriel.” Crowley blinked. That was – that was not what he’d expected. “I find myself at a bit of an impasse, so to speak,” Aziraphale explained, “How would you like me to react when he – if you should come up in conversation?” Crowley sputtered, trying to form words but only managing to tie his tongue into knots. “Only,” Aziraphale continued, “I know that he – that is – his reaction was less than kind, but he is the father of my son and I am bound to interact with him on a regular basis.”

“Say what you like, really,” Crowley croaked out, “‘s not like I care.”

“Oh, but you must! You’re his brother!”

Crowley couldn’t help the bitterness rising inside of him and bleeding into his voice as he said, “Apparently, I’m not.”

“He – Gabriel – he’s really quite an extraordinary person, you know,” Aziraphale said, sounding almost desperate. It remained unclear whether he was trying to convince Crowley or himself.

_Why are you defending him?_ Crowley wanted to ask, but, he thought, he could probably guess the answer.

“No offence,” he said instead, “But I don’t trust your taste in men.”

A half-smile, sad and wistful, passed over Aziraphale’s face. “He used to be different,” he said, “When we first met. We were young, of course, eager to grow up and start our own life. It wasn’t until after Adam was with us that – that we realised we had different goals in life. We got divorced shortly after.”

“Musta been tough on the kid.”

“It was,” Aziraphale agreed, “He had to watch us fight before the inevitable separation and then he had to watch us fight some more over the house and the money and the custody rights.” He sighed. “Sometimes I worry – things like that are bound to build up resentment in a person.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley conceded, “Doesn’t have to be permanent, though. He’s 16. You’re there for him. Apologise for what happened and – and mean it. Show him that you care.”

“I do care,” Aziraphale said, “I do love him so terribly much.”

“And Gabriel?” The blond went perfectly still, his eyes widening with something like fear. “Just sayin’,” Crowley continued, wishing he could just bite off his tongue to stop himself from speaking, but, alas, “You can’t make up for other people’s mistakes.”

Aziraphale wet his lips. “I worry that – after Adam saw how Gabriel reacted – reacted to you – I’m afraid he worries he’ll reject him.”

Crowley nodded. “He might.” Ugly as it was, it was the truth. No point sugar-coating it. “But that’ll be Gabriel’s choice. Not yours. You can’t control other people’s actions, Aziraphale.”

“He used to be different,” Aziraphale repeated, as if that suddenly made it alright, looking defeated and miserable, as another wave of bitterness swept over Crowley, bitterness and anger and resentment. Aziraphale burned so bright and beautiful and yet in this moment his flames were all but extinguished by the giant shadow hanging over him.

In Crowley’s mind there was no question as to who was responsible for that shadow.


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

After finding himself in the Space and wasting the morning away with Crowley while waiting for Adam to return from his breakfast outing with the Them, Aziraphale seemed to end up in that lovely little café in Soho more and more often these days. There was a simplicity to it all that he craved, warmth and beauty that he didn’t think he could live without again, not now that he’d laid eyes on it, not now that he knew.

And Crowley – it was impossible to think of the Space without also thinking about him.

The severe lines of his cheeks, the vibrant colour of his hair, the way he smiled and moved and talked. So self-assured and yet so careful.

There was honesty there, Aziraphale found.

There was trust there.

“I was 12 when the first Pride Parade was held in Brighton,” he told Crowley one day, tucked away in a corner of the back room while Crowley’s friend Belle was in charge of the café, “I remember sneaking out of the house and watching it from a distance and feeling happy and terrified at the same time.”

“I was 10 when the fire happened,” Crowley whispered another day, sitting in the empty café, while several teenagers discussed being queer in the other room, “Gabriel was 15. We were separated. I ran away a few days later, trying to find him, but only ended up on the streets.”

They always met in the sacred sanctuary of the Space, soothed by the calm, even if around them the world was storming. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was the café itself or, perhaps, Crowley, but he found himself relaxing the second he stepped foot through the door, wrapped up in the familiar smells and sounds, the light dyed colourful by the pride flags covering the windows.

“Gabriel was my first boyfriend,” he recalled with a weak smile on his face, “My first love. How foolish I was!”

He was being foolish now, yet again, allowing his heart to skip a beat whenever Crowley smiled at him, allowed his breath to get caught in his throat whenever Crowley said his name, allowed his finger to ache with the desire to card them through auburn red hair.

Aziraphale thought of Crowley and the way his eyes shone with mischief and mirth, the way he threw back his head when he was laughing, free of constrains, the way his attention felt like a warm, soft blanket on a cold winter’s day.

And Aziraphale thought of Gabriel and how different he was. How different he could have been. There was a weight there, in Aziraphale’s mind, heavy and dark and stifling. He hadn’t talked to his ex-husband since the failed dinner, but Adam had said that Gabriel seemed quitter than usual, more thoughtful. In another time, another place, Aziraphale might have gained hope by that, might have wished for a new beginning, a second chance, but as it was, right here, right now, he barely thought of it at all.

“Warlock was 11 when he walked in here,” Crowley said, his voice filled with love and adoration, “His father had thrown him out. I pulled a few strings with social services and adopted him. His mum still calls sometimes but they live in the US.”

The sheer amount of care Crowley put into his work, the heart he wore on his sleeve, battered and bruised, but bravely held out for others to see – Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to safely lock it away and keep it from harm. But it wasn’t his to take. It wasn’t his to protect.

And this was enough. The blessing of Crowley’s friendship, the spell of Crowley’s focus, the miracle of Crowley’s trust.

And yet, he hoped.

Sometimes, in the calm moments in between, when it was just them, Crowley’s eyes would soften, his smile sweeten, and the intensity of his gaze would make Aziraphale blush.

Sometimes, the weight of his name on Crowley’s lips would shift and carry unspoken meanings over the short distance between them.

Sometimes, Aziraphale hoped and wished he didn’t.

He’d been spending almost every Monday and Friday in London for the past few weeks, often helping out in the café, and today had been no different.

Adam was sitting on the sofa when Aziraphale came home, feet propped up on the coffee table and laptop balanced on his legs. There were questions in his eyes when he looked at his dad, questions that had been there for days now but that Aziraphale had always carefully avoided, unsure whether he would have the answers. There was something else in his eyes, too, something that made Aziraphale think that Adam was done waiting.

“Are you dating him?” the teenager asked without further ado.

“Come again?”

“Crowley,” Adam clarified, “Are you dating him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale answered, walking into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and, perhaps, get out of the conversation, only to have Adam follow him.

“It’s okay if you are,” he said, “I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the wistful smile tugging on his lips. “I’m not dating him.”

“Well, do you want to?” Adam questioned further, leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You like him, right?”

The kettle clicked, giving Aziraphale a convenient excuse to turn away and pour the water into his waiting mug.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, my dear boy.”

“Seems plenty easy to me,” Adam argued stubbornly, “You like him. He liked you. You should date.”

Aziraphale supressed a sigh. “Adam –” he began, but the boy cut him off.

“I wanna come out to father.” Aziraphale nearly dropped his tea. “I don’t care what he thinks,” Adam went on, “He’s going to find out sooner or later, anyway, so I might as well tell him now and get it over with.”

Aziraphale blinked. “A – Are – Are you sure?” he asked, while his heart clenched in his chest and something like fear took hold of him.

Looking at Adam now, he seemed different. He stood taller than before, and the haircut his friends had given him made him look older. There was determination in his eyes.

“Yes, dad,” he said, “I’m sure.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, then,” he said, tugging on his shirt, “I will support you, however I can.”

“I know you will,” Adam muttered, giving him a small smile.

“I am awfully proud of you, Adam,” Aziraphale said, making sure to hold Adam’s gaze and watching as a blush crept up the boy’s cheeks, “And I do love you dearly,” Aziraphale added, stepping closer to Adam and carefully pulling him into a hug.

Adam said nothing, instead slinging his arms around Aziraphale’s broad frame and holding on tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley wasn’t fretting.

He’d woken up early and opened the café and cleaned the already spotless counter about three times now and he wasn’t fretting, thank you very much.

Crowley was waiting.

Belle had come in early as well, sporting dark rings under their eyes and a glare that promised bloodshed and carnage to anyone who dared come too close. They didn’t speak. Crowley went around the room, aligning all the chairs in perfect 90° angles to the table, sneered at the plants, and very pointedly did not look at the clock on the wall. He wasn’t fretting. That would be ridiculous. He had nothing to fret about. Just because Aziraphale was the first to come in every Monday and Friday without fail for the past few weeks, didn’t mean he had to do so on this particular Friday. The man had a life after all.

And anyway, what did Crowley care what Aziraphale did? They were friends. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. Crowley wasn’t even sure on that. The blond came in with his ridiculously out-dated clothes, and his ridiculously curly hair, and his ridiculously bright eyes, all softness and smiles, and he’d have the audacity to make Crowley’s heart do acrobatics in his chest that would put Olympic athletes to shame, and yet Crowley wasn’t sure if they were friends.

Speaking of the devil.

“Aziraphale!”

There he was, stood in the doorway to the space, the light of the morning sun shining down on him, illuminating his white-golden hair like an angel’s halo, and for a moment Crowley forgot how to breathe.

“Hello my dear.” Aziraphale’s blinding smile was hitting him head-on, brighter and more beautiful than ever, “I do apologise for being late. The train, you see.”

Crowley didn’t. All he could see were the dimples in Aziraphale’s cheeks and the line of his throat that, for once, wasn’t covered by a bowtie. He was wearing a cream-coloured jumper today, the knitted wool hugging his broad chest and stomach in ways that were downright indecent. Crowley wished he could replace it with his arms. Then he wanted to slap himself for even having such thoughts.

It was always the same when Aziraphale came in. He would take his tea and a book and huddle into the corner and then Crowley would find some convenient excuse to join him and then they’d talk and talk and talk. It was always the same, and yet something was different this time around. Aziraphale didn’t make a beeline for the back room, and he did not sit down in his usual spot, but instead stayed right where he was, wringing his hands together in a way that Crowley hadn’t seen him do since the beginning.

“Tea?” he managed to ask, grateful that his voice was cooperating.

“Ahh.” Aziraphale’s hands, plump and perfectly manicured, fell down to the hem of his jumper, tugging nervously at the fabric. “I was rather wondering – that is – if you’d be at all amendable – perhaps, you would like to get some breakfast w –”

“Yes.”

“—me,” Aziraphale finished his sentence while Crowley made a valiant attempt to chew off his own tongue.

“I mean,” he tried to backpaddle, “Why not. Y’know. It’s whatever, really.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Belle shaking their head in shame.

“Wonderful!” Some of the tension Aziraphale had held in his shoulders evaporated and he dropped his hands to his sides, only to pick them pack up and clasp them together in front of his stomach. “I’m glad,” he added, “Would you like me to come back later or…?”

“Go,” Belle cut in before Crowley even had a chance at coming up with an answer, “He’s been fretting all morning,” they informed Aziraphale, “’s fucking unbearable.”

“I wasn’t fretting!” Crowley protested, “I don’t fret.”

The blond’s eyes crinkled slightly with amusement. “Of course, you don’t,” he agreed, although Crowley somehow felt he was merely buttering him up but didn’t have the means to prove it so he let it slide, “That would a preposterous notion.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. “Right.”

“Shall we?”

Feeling slightly light-headed, Crowley followed Aziraphale outside and down the road to a café he’d walked past a few times before but had never paid any closer attention to. It was small, smaller than the Space, the walls painted in a light-blue; white, lacy curtains hanging on the windows, and the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was the sort of place that, under different circumstances, Crowley wouldn’t be caught dead in, but Aziraphale’s face had lit up in delight the second they’d entered and he’d wiggled happily in his chair as they’d placed their orders and Crowley might have been many things but a monster was not one of them, his reputation be damned. The coffee was decent, at least. As was the croissant if Aziraphale’s delighted hums were anything to by.

This was, Crowley realised with a little jolt, the first time they’d actually left the safety of the Space. There was no one here who would bother them, no customers disturbing their conversations, no curious eyes watching them from afar – just them, sitting at a small table in a cosy café in Soho, their knees bumping into each other, and Crowley trying desperately not to choke on his coffee.

They talked about Aziraphale’s book collection – “Classic literature, mostly, and a series of misprinted bibles” – and Crowley’s car – “Bought her for a Pound and a pint ages ago. Rebuild her almost from scratch. Was the only roof over my head for a while, there” – and their shared love for a good bottle of wine. They talked about Aziraphale’s job and how much he disliked it and his dream of opening his own bookshop which had slowly but surely turned to dust as the years had worn on. An idea was forming in the back of Crowley’s mind, ridiculous, really, but there nonetheless; Crowley decided to put off for now, not wanting to rush Aziraphale into anything. They somehow ended up discussing the Arthurian legends and Shakespeare and Queen Victoria, only to circle back to the Space.

“First time Pepper came in,” Crowley recollected, “12 years old, little scrap of a thing, dragging Brian behind her, demanded to know why there wasn’t a trans flag outside. I told her, it got lost during the last pride and a new one’s it its way. And then she said, my name’s Pepper, she said, I use she/her pronouns, and this is Brian, Brian doesn’t like to be referred to, we’ll have two hot chocolates when you’re ready, please. And that was it. Haven’t managed to get rid of her since.”

There was something incredibly soft, incredibly gentle, about the way Aziraphale looked at him, something open and honest that ignited a fire in Crowley’s chest, the flames burning hot and high, painting his cheeks red.

“I do admire your commitment,” Aziraphale said, sounding so bloody earnest it was almost infuriating.

“’s nothing, really,” Crowley deflected, trying to take another sip from his coffee only to realise that it was already empty, “Just doing my job.”

“I beg to differ.” Aziraphale finished the last of his croissant, dabbing the corners of his mouth with the serviette. “I can see how much you mean to them.”

_And you?_ Crowley wanted to ask. _How much do I mean to you?_

“You want another one?” he asked, nodding at Aziraphale’s empty plate, “My treat.”

Aziaphale’s hand was on the table, Crowley noted, lying still and so, so close. Tempting. It wouldn’t take much to – but no. No, he shouldn’t. It was too much, too soon.

And yet…

Aziraphale’s hands were beautiful, his fingers strong and smooth from all the books he handled, perfect for holding gently and squeezing lightly and cherishing fully, and Crowley wished –

“Thank you, but no,” Aziraphale said, breaking through Crowley’s thought, “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

_I wouldn’t mind if you did._

“Ehh. They’ll manage without me.”

And that smile. That bloody smile. It was there again, so bright it was blinding. “Well then,” Aziraphale spoke up, “In that case, how about a walk?”

“Nghk. Sure.”

Crowley managed to snatch the bill out from underneath Aziraphale’s hand, their fingers touching for just the split of a second, and pay for the both of them, before they left the café. The streets were busier now, forcing them closer and closer together, their arms bumping into each other, and if Crowley could just reach out, could just bridge those few inches between them –

Huffing indignantly at his own thoughts, Crowley quickly crammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers before they could do anything stupid. He was being ridiculous, really.

“Anywhere in particular in mind?” Crowley asked, just to get his mind back on track. They were simply walking aimlessly through Soho and Crowley would keep walking if Aziraphale just said the word.

“Oh, I rather think you’re the expert on this area,” Aziraphale answered. That was fair. “Truth be told,” he continued, “I haven’t had much chance to look around yet.”

Crowley nodded, turning right, away from Piccadilly. “Too busy hanging around me?” he teased.

“Rather.” There was nothing but mirth in his voice as he followed Crowley through the streets, past shops and pubs and the occasional lost tourist. “And such a shame, too. This is a lovely place.”

There it was again. The idea. Tickling his brain, clawing its way further and further to the front where it really had no right to be. Not yet.

“I’m a horrible influence,” Crowley replied, bumping his shoulder into Aziraphale’s, cherishing the brief point of contact.

“The worst.” Aziraphale laughed, sweetly and openly.

They ended up in the Square Garden. It was no St. James Park but it was pretty enough this time of year, the trees blooming in luscious green and the birds singing from up in the branches. A bench was free which they sat down on, closer, perhaps, than strictly necessary, but if Aziraphale noticed, he didn’t let it on. Crowley was sprawled out the way he always did, placing one hand loosely on his knee, the one almost touching Aziraphale’s, and if he hoped that the blond would take it…well…that was between him and the Almighty alone, and nobody ever had to know. Not that it would happen, anyway. Not that Aziraphale would –

Would –

Crowley was frozen in place, the only thing on his mind a vague incoherent screech as time around them seemed to have come to a standstill.

Aziraphale was – he was –

There was a touch there, against his hand, warm, barely more than a whisper but Crowley could feel it nonetheless, his entire being reduced to that one patch of skin where their bodies connected.

Did Aziraphale know? Was he aware they were – that there was –

Crowley couldn’t tell. He was too afraid to turn his head, lest the movement separate them. It was all he could do to stare at their hands, Aziraphale’s pinkie finger resting on Crowley’s as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t send Crowley’s heart into overdrive, as if it belonged there. Oh, how he wished it did.

“Crowley.”

Crowley snapped his head up, couldn’t help himself, really, and looked at Aziraphale. The blond was watching him, something like doubt in his eyes, something like fear.

“’ziraphale.”

A tongue poked out between a pair of lush lips. “I –”

“Aziraphale.”

_Angel._

They were still touching. Aziraphale must have noticed by now, surely. Why wasn’t he moving away? Unless –

But that was ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly. Always so softly. He was smiling at him, small and genuine and hopeful, and Crowley –

“Have dinner with me?” he blurted out, “A date.” _What am I doing?_ “Tomorrow.” _This is a bad idea!_ “Or. Whenever.”

Aziraphale was – he was still watching, still smiling. He wasn’t saying anything.

_Retreat! Retreat! Re –_

The pinkie finger moved, sliding further down Crowley’s hand until the whole palm was covering it, the skin smooth and warm and perfect.

“I would love nothing more,” Aziraphale answered, the doubt and fear replaced by relief and something that looked like joy.

“Nghk.” Words. Words were hard. “Cool.”

“I do so enjoy your company, my dear.”

Perhaps, Crowley mused, he’d died. Perhaps this was his afterlife; forever being tormented with his own foolish heart and the poor excuse of a thing he called his tongue.

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out, “Me too. Yours. Enjoy.”

Aziraphale’s smile twitched, morphing into something bigger, something vaguely amused. The bastard was enjoying this, Crowley realised with a pang of fondness.

Two could play that game, of course.

Taking a calming breath, Crowley methodically herded all remaining doubts into the darkest corner of his mind and turned his hand, the one covered by Aziraphale’s, to lace their fingers together, squeezing lightly and watching as the prettiest shade of pink tinged the blond’s cheeks.

“Can I tempt you to another cuppa and a slice of cake back at the Space?” His heart was still thumping furiously against his ribs but at least his voice was steady now, almost sultry, his mouth hugging the vowels with confidence and intent.

“An intriguing temptation, indeed, you wily old devil,” Aziraphale replied, “And a successful one at that, I should say.”

It wasn’t so much a decision to stand up together, as that it just sort of happened, their hands still joined as they left the Square Garden, the birds singing in their wake.


	10. Chapter 10

_Ill pick u up @7 @ur place_

Aziraphale stared at the text message for the fifth time in the past hour. He knew what it said, of course; had known since he’d read it the first time during his lunch break. And yet. He still couldn’t quite believe that he was going on a date with Crowley. The previous day seemed somewhat hazy, the memory going fuzzy around the edges, tinged in a golden light, like an old photograph that had been lying too long in the sun. The shadow of Crowley’s touch against his hand was still there, like the echo of a dream, the smile Crowley had given him, tattooed into the back of Aziraphale’s mind, to be framed and cherished forever. This text message was proof that all that had, in fact, happened.

It was half past six and Aziraphale was pacing the flat. He’d changed his clothes several times, trying to pick his best outfit until settling on a pastel pink button down shirt underneath his beloved beige waist coat, paired with a bow tie and trousers of the same tartan pattern. His hair was a lost case, however. Looking down now, Aziraphale noticed that his hands had gone red from all the wringing he’d done with them.

_Oh dear!_

Gabriel had tried to call him as well, fortunately Aziraphale had been in the other room at the time. A perfectly reasonable explanation for not picking up.

“Good evening, Crowley,” he said to himself, stopping in front of the mirror in the hallway, “No.” He shook his head. “No, that’s too formal.” His hands reached up to fix his bowtie which, frankly, didn’t need fixing. “Hi,” he tried again, accompanying the word with a little wave and cringed immediately. That was even worse. “My dearest Crow – no! No, I can’t say that, for sure.” His feet took up the pacing once more, quite without his input. “Hello, my dear bo – Oh! Fiddlesticks!”

He’d passed by the window and there, out on the streets, stood a car, and leaned against the hood of said car, stood a man. A man with bright red hair, vibrant even in the yellow light of the streetlamps, but that – that couldn’t be right. It was too early!

Or was it?

Aziraphale chanced a glance at the clock and, indeed, there were still 20 minutes to go.

Crowley was leaned against his car, smoking a cigarette and, by the looks of it, bouncing his leg, and – oh! Oh, he really was quite stunning, wasn’t he?

There was something exciting, something forbidden, about watching him like this, from the safety of his window. Aziraphale knew he shouldn’t but it was near impossible to look away.

_Hello, my dear boy._

Shaking himself out of his reverence, Aziraphale tore himself away from the window, put on his coat, and checked his looks in the mirror one last time. It would have to do.

Outside, Crowley hadn’t moved. He did, however, look up the moment Aziraphale left the house, his whole body going taut before he quickly dropped the cigarette and pulled something out of his pocket that looked like chewing gum.

“’Ziraphale.” His voice sounded chocked. Gravelly.

“You’re early.” That – that wasn’t what he’d meant to say, at all. “I don’t mind, that is,” he quickly added before Crowley could even open his mouth, “I’m happy to see you.”

Crowley let out a string of incoherent vowels, a pretty blush creeping up his neck towards his cheeks that Aziraphale gracefully pretended not to see. After all, his own cheeks felt suspiciously hot as well.

“Since you’re here,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as faint as he felt, “How do you feel about taking a walk before dinner? Take the scenic route, so to speak.”

Crowley nodded, some of the tension leaving his body as he pushed himself away from the car, thumps pushed into the pockets of his trousers.

“You – ah –” Crowleu cleared his throat, “You look – good,” he said, still blushing, “You look good.”

“As do you, my dear.”

From close up, now, Aziraphale saw that he was wearing extremely tight, black jeans, and, underneath his leather jacket, an equally black blazer over what looked like a deep cut, loose, grey shirt, finished off with meticulously drawn, black eyeliner – he was beautiful.

“Thanks, angel.” There was a beat in which time seemed to slow down and Crowley came to a halt completely. “I mean –” he choked out, “I don’t mean –”

“It’s quite alright,” Aziraphale fell in, the words barely audible over the pounding of his heart, “I find that I like it.”

“Nghk. Good. ‘s good. That you like it.”

“Indeed.” He couldn’t help the smile that was spreading on his face at seeing Crowley so flustered. “Shall we?”

Crowley extended one arm in a ridiculously grand motion. “After you.”

The scenic route took them along the beach, the song of the ocean ringing in their ears and the salty breeze playing with their hair. Families and friends and other couples passed them by, each enjoying the evening in their own way.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when it had happened but at some point their hands had found each other again, palm to palm and fingers locked, a grounding touch that send Aziraphale’s heart flying.

“You grew up here?” Crowley asked after they’d passed the pier.

Aziraphale nodded. “I did,” he answered, “My father was a vicar, you see. My mother worked as a nurse.”

“My ma was a nurse, too.”

_I know_ , Aziraphale thought, _Gabriel talked about her sometimes_.

He didn’t say it, of course. Instead, he squeezed Crowley’s hand ever so slightly and hoped that it would bring some comfort.

“Barely remember her now, actually,” Crowley continued, “Think she had blond hair, though. Same eyes as me.”

Blond hair and hazel eyes – Aziraphale had seen a picture, once. Evelyn Young, her husband Adam, and their two little children.

“Do you miss them? Your parents?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he’d asked, or rather why he’d asked now. He wanted to know, of course he wanted to know, everything Crowley was willing to share with him.

But why now? He couldn’t have said.

Maybe it was the fading light of the day, softening the edges of reality. Maybe, the steady weight of Crowley’s hand in his. Maybe, everything that had happened these past few weeks.

“I dunno,” Crowley muttered eventually, his voice sounding far, far away, “I was just a kid.” In Aziraphale’s mind he saw Crowley, back when he’d still had long hair – long and blond, like his mom – back when he’s still had his family, happy and loved, suddenly all alone. It was not a thought he planned on pursuing any further, truth be told. “P’r’aps I miss the memories. The idea of ‘em more than the actual thing.” Crowley shook his head, the motion barely noticeable, before adding, “Was a long time ago, anyway.”

“For what it’s worth,” Aziraphale said carefully, hoping he wasn’t overstepping, “I am awfully glad life decided to have our paths cross.”

Crowley let out a little snort and stepped closer, bumping their shoulders together. “Pretty sure you’ve got Adam to thank for that.”

Despite the heavy words that had passed between them, the air was light, serene in a way Aziraphale hadn’t felt in a long time. Talking to Crowley was easy, holding his hand, freeing. Gabriel had never done that, come to think of it. Held his hand. Offered comfort and affection in public – _it’s unprofessional_ , he’d said.

They made their way to the restaurant, a tiny little place owned by two young sisters, and arguably the best spot for some well-made sushi, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Inside, the air was pleasantly warm, smelling of spices and something sweet.

“Aziraphale!” Akira, one of the sisters greeted him, a bright smile on her face.

“Hello, dear girl, how are you? How’s your sister?”

“Good,” she answered, leading them up to a table in the corner, “We’re good. Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, Akira, this is Crowley. We met in London. Crowley, this is Akira Sato, the best chef in Brighton.”

“I heard that!” another voice came from behind a set of curtains that lead to the kitchen.

“My sister,” Akira explained to Crowley, “Ignore her. Can I bring you some drinks?”

“Some wine, I should think. Crowley?”

“Sure,” answered Crowley, while shrugging out his jacket and – _Oh, good Lord_ – revealing the rolled-up sleeves of his blazer. His left arm was covered in what looked like snake scales, black and grey ink covering every inch of skin from his wrist to the point where it vanished underneath the fabric, presumably running all way up to his shoulder. It was a beautiful piece of art and Aziraphale found it incredibly hard to look away.

“One bottle of wine coming right up,” Akira announced, “Aziraphale, the usual for you?”

Blinking a few times, Aziraphale redirected his attention to the young woman. “Yes,” he answered, “Yes, thank you, dear.”

Akira nodded. “And for you, Crowley?”

“Er…Same as him.”

They were the only ones here, a fact which Aziraphale was quite grateful for. It felt oddly intimate, sitting at this table, a candle flickering between them, and the only sound being the melodical music in the background.

“This is nice,” Crowley remarked after Akira had vanished into the kitchen with their orders.

“It’s one of my favourite places.”

“You’ve got good taste then.” A smile was playing around Crowley’s lips, lighting up his whole face.

Feeling bold, Aziraphale returned it and said, “I’m here with you, after all,” causing another blush to darken Crowley’s cheeks, while Aziraphale couldn’t help the wave of pride surging up inside of him. He did that. He had that affect on Crowley.

Cheeks still red, Crowley pointed an accusatory finger at Aziraphale. “You,” he said theatrically, “Are a bit of a bastard, angel.” It sounded like a compliment, the words filled with fondness and affection and something else Aziraphale didn’t think he could look at too closely just yet.

“Cheek!” he shot back in mock indignation, just as Akira returned with their wine, “I’ll have you know I’m very nice, my dear boy.”

“He really is, you know,” Akira commented, pouring their drinks, “Nice.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Crowley said with a lopsided smile, his eyes focused solely on Aziraphale.

“Food’ll be out soon.” Akira left, though Aziraphale had to admit that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if she’d stayed.

Crowley’s eyes really were captivating, almost golden in the flickering light of the candle.

“You speak of my kindness,” Aziraphale said, “I feel you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched up towards equally, perfectly styled hair. “Don’t much care for being nice, me,” Crowley said, his hand closing around the wine glass.

Aziraphale took his own glass. “And yet you do it so well.” He raised the glass. “To being nice.”

Shaking his head ever so slightly, still smiling, Crowley clinked their glasses together. “To being bastards.”

The food was, indeed, out very soon. The table filled with plates and bowls of Aziraphale’s favourites, all smelling positively divine.

“I’ve actually never had sushi before,” Crowley commented, eyeing the rolls on the table.

“Oh! Well, then you simply must try, my dear,” Aziraphale told him, eagerly helping himself to a roll of his own, “They’re delectable.”

Aziraphale watched with some amusement as Crowley struggled with the chopsticks, letting out a triumphant “Ha!” when he finally wrangled them into submission and picked up a sushi roll, Aziraphale waited and watched as Crowley brought it up to his mouth, his lips delicately closing around the roll.

“How do you like it?” Aziraphale asked, feeling somewhat breathless.

Still chewing, Crowley grinned, a joyful glee in his eyes. “Heavenly,” he said, “Or maybe that’s the company.”

“It is exceedingly pleasant,” Aziraphale agreed, ignoring the blush creeping up his cheeks yet again. It seemed, that was simply a prize he had to pay for being with Crowley. Not that he minded. “Do you know,” he added, helping himself to some rice, “You are the first person I brought here with me.”

Crowley glanced up from the sesame tuna he’d been inspecting. “Should I feel special?”

“You are special.”

A string of unintelligible sounds left Crowley’s mouth that effectively melted Aziraphale’s heart into a puddle of heart-shaped goo.

“Why –” Crowley began but stopped himself, taking a sip from his wine, “Any reason why you’ve never taken anyone here? ‘s your favourite place, you said.”

“It is.” Aziraphale nodded, eating a sushi roll of his own to give himself some time, before answering, “Which is why I never felt the desire to share it with anyone before.”

“Not even Gabriel?” Crowley asked, visibly surprised.

“Gabriel – Gabriel does not eat out much,” Aziraphale said, “He deems it too indulgent.”

“Entitled prick.”

“Really, dear!”

“Well, he is,” Crowley argued, a fire burning in his eyes, “You deserve better.”

Merely a few weeks ago, Aziraphale might have argued, might have excused Gabriel’s actions, might have said that he really wasn’t all that bad, but now? Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“And what is that?” The question was out before Aziraphale could stop it, wishing he could take it back, hoping Crowley simply wouldn’t answer.

But of course, he couldn’t.

But of course, Crowley did.

“You deserve the world, Aziraphale.”

Maybe it was the gravity in Crowley’s voice, or maybe the weight of his words, maybe the intensity of those beautiful hazel eyes – Aziraphale shuddered, his own voice failing him, his own words escaping, his own eyes growing wide. The lump in his throat really was awfully inconvenient, the silence stretching between them uncomfortably tense, and Aziraphale could see Crowley regretting his words – his hands fidgeting with the chopsticks before he dropped them and emptied his wineglass I one big gulp, reaching up to his hair but abandoning the motion halfway in favour of rubbing the back of his neck.

_Say something_ , Aziraphale chided himself, anything.

But he couldn’t.

It was all too much, too soon, too fast.

Swallowing around the lump, his hands trembling, Aziraphale reached out, fingers closing around Crowley’s.

“M – my – my dear boy –”

“’s okay, ‘ziraphale, you don’t have to –”

“But I do.” _But I can’t_. “I do.” Collecting all his courage, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand, and said, “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me and Adam. You have offered support where you didn’t have to and I – I find myself quite enamoured by you, my dear. Cherished. And though I might not be able to put words to it, just yet, please know that I – that my feelings for you run deep, and – and I do hope –” Oh! Why was this so difficult? “—I realise I am in no position to make demands,” he tried again, “And yet I would – that is – I would ask you to be patient.”

Crowley wet his lips, his gaze moving to their joined hands. “You can take as long as you need,” he all but whispered, looking back up again to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, “I’m happy to wait.”

All the tension held up in Aziraphale melted away into a smile. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, “I want to go with you, Crowley, however far you want, as long as we go slow.”

“Slow as you like,” Crowley muttered, chewing on his lower lip before adding, “Angel.”

Eating a whole meal while holding hands across the table wasn’t something Aziraphale ever thought he would do, and yet here he was, enjoying his dinner and Crowley’s touch, unwilling to let go.

Conversations moved on to lighter topics – Crowley’s favourite TV show, Aziraphale’s latest literary exploits, and the more obscure terms for groups of animals – It was, without a doubt, one of the best nights of his life, ending with the sweet taste of Mitsumame and a glass of Sake, before they paid and walked back, along the beach, to Aziraphale’s apartment.


	11. Chapter 11

“How’s Adam?” Crowley asked, shivering slightly in the cold breeze. Perhaps, he mused, he should have put on some warmer clothes. Of course, that would have meant forsaking his aesthetic, which wasn’t really an option.

“Very well,” Aziraphale replied. They were still holding hands, hadn’t stopped really, since the restaurant. “He – ah – he’s staying with Gabriel for the weekend.” There was an uncertainty in Aziraphale’s voice, a concern, as if he didn’t know if he should even mention the name to Crowley. “He told me he’s intending on coming out to him soon.”

“How’s he feeling about that?” Crowley asked as they crossed a street.

“Nervous, I believe,” Aziraphale answered, “Between you and me,” he added, “I’m not certain Gabriel will take it well.”

“But it’s Adam’s choice.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement. “But it’s Adam’s choice.”

Perhaps, Crowley thought, this wasn’t the best conversation topic. Except if they were to date – if they were to be in a relationship – it was all part of Aziraphale’s life, after all. It would be part of Crowley’s life, too.

“I can see how much he changed already,” Aziraphale continued, smiling, “How much happier he is now. How much his new friends mean to him.”

“’m glad.”

They reached Aziraphale’s street, both slowing down the closer they got to the house until they came to stop by the Bentley.

“Would you – would you like to come in for a nightcap?” Aziraphale asked, the blush visible even in the dim lights of the streetlamps.

“I still need to drive,” Crowley reminded him, “Probably shouldn’t even have drunk as much as I did.”

“A coffee, then, “Aziraphale suggested, “To sober up.”

“Just coffee?”

A half-smile scurried over Aziraphale’s face, his eyes filled with mirth. “Just coffee.”

“’right.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale into the building, up the stairs, and to the door of the flat, the old floorboards creaking under their feet.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said apologetically, stepping inside.

Crowley couldn’t tell if the flat was actually smaller than his own or if it just looked that way due to all the clutter. There were books everywhere. Books and mugs and comics – which Crowley was pretty sure belonged to Adam rather than Aziraphale – and little bits and bobs, lying around, covering the table and shelves and windowsills. Usually, Crowley had a Thing when it came to messiness – he couldn’t stand it, to be quite frank. But this – this didn’t seem messy. It was organised chaos and Crowley had no doubt that Aziraphale could point to each and every item in this room and know exactly why it was there. It looked loved and well lived-in, and Crowley couldn’t help but immediately feel welcome.

“It’s very you, I think,” he countered, walking over to one of the bookshelves and considering the framed photos of Adam throughout the years. The most recent, he noted, couldn’t be older than a few weeks – his hair short and well-styled, his clothes much more masculine than in the other pictures, his smile happy and genuine.

“I – I shall make that coffee now, then,” Aziraphale announced from somewhere behind him, “Do make yourself at home.”

Crowley let out a non-committal hum, taking off his jacket and blazer as he looked around further. Small and crammed as it was, it was a nice flat. Homey. Bright colours and questionable tartan patterns, an actual honest-to-the-Almighty typewriter on the desk by the window that made Crowley smile with fondness. The couch looked comfortable, too, and it didn’t disappoint when he sunk into the soft upholstery, sprawling out as much as he physically could.

“You take it black?” Aziraphale asked after a few moments, returning with two steaming cups of coffee.

“I do.”

Aziraphale sat down on the sofa, all prim and proper, the way he always did, leaving barely any space between them. The silence that followed, felt anticipating – a space waiting to be filled.

It didn’t have to wait for long.

“I did have the loveliest time tonight.”

“That mean there’s chance for a second date?” Crowley asked over the sound of his pounding heart.

“Oh, I should hope so,” Aziraphale answered, “I meant what I said. I want to go with you, Crowley, however far you want.”

All the way, Crowley thought distantly, his mind zeroing in on the slight brush of their thighs on the sofa, the heat of Aziraphale’s body next to his – so close. They were so close.

“’s long as we go slow,” Crowley repeated Aziraphale’s words from earlier, wondering where kissing on the first date fell on that scale.

Aziraphale hummed, setting down his coffee. “May I?” His hand, hovering over Crowley’s bare arm.

Crowley nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Aziraphale’s touch was featherlight, his fingers trailing up his arm, caressing the scales eternalised in ink on his skin, up, up, up, all the way to his shoulder where they disappeared underneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered.

_He’s talking about the tattoo_ , Crowley reminded himself, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

Aziraphale’s hand was warm and dry and soft, sending little shock waves through Crowley’s body, making it hard to think.

Were they getting closer, still?

“Crowley, I –” Aziraphale cut himself off and Crowley looked up, away from the hand on his arm, into beautifully pale blue eyes.

“Angel?”

“Crowley.”

Was he just imagining things or did Aziraphale keep glancing at his lips?

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried again, his voice sounding ragged and shaky, “May I –”

_Brr. Brr. Brr._

They all but jumped apart at the sound, Crowley nearly falling off the sofa, while Aziraphale scrambled to get his phone off the table.

“Oh! Oh dear!” he exclaimed, handling the device with the ease of someone disarming a bomb. “It’s Adam,” he explained, “He – he says he came out to Gabriel.”

“Oh?” Crowley’s heart was still racing, his mind stuck on the moment of second ago – had Aziraphale been –

“He thinks it went okay.”

“Good.” Crowley cleared his throat. “That’s good.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale looked up, his cheeks flushed. “I – I should probably…” He trailed off, merely raising the phone.

“Right. Yeah.” Crowley nodded. “You should –” His body was moving all on its own without any input of his brain, putting on his blazer, his jacket, running a hand though his hair. “I’d better head home, anyway. It’s late.”

He was halfway to the door already, when Aziraphale held him back. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

He turned around, surprised to find the blond standing right in front of him. Rather than saying any more, Aziraphale stepped forward, bridging the gap between them until there were only a few inches left. Crowley stood frozen still, staring at Aziraphale, his eyes, his mouth.

There was a hand on his cheek – gentle, so, so gentle – thump running along his cheekbone and a pair of lips brushing against his own, the ghost of a kiss, sweet and chaste and perfect and –

Over.

The touch was gone, just like that, leaving behind only a tingling sensation and the dream of something more.

“Mind how you go, my dear boy,” Aziraphale whispered, stepping back, “I will see you on Monday.”

“Monday,” Crowley repeated, fighting back the urge to reach up and touch his fingers to his lips, the echo of the kiss still resonating through his body, “Yeah.” He swallowed thickly, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’ll see you on Monday, angel.”

It was late by the time he got home.

Seeing Warlock still out and about, however, wasn’t a surprise. Neither was seeing Belle, for that matter.

“How dare you Blue Shell me, you snotty little shit?” Belle snapped just as Crowley closed the door behind himself.

“It’s called retribution – hi dad.”

“You’re having fun, I see,” Crowley commented with a smirk, taking in the sight of his son and best friend pressed side by side on the sofa, staring intently at the TV screen.

“We are,” Belle replied, leaning to the right as if that would have any impact on what was happening on screen, “Now shut up. I’m winning.”

“No, you’re not,” Warlock shot back, his tongue poking out between his lips.

Crowley took the time to take off his jacket and shoes, pouring himself a glass of water while listening to the sounds of Belle very much not winning, if the swearing was anything to go by.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

_I have just finished talking to Adam and thought I would let you know that he is, indeed, doing fine._

_I will meet up with him and Gabriel tomorrow._

_See you on Monday,_

_Aziraphale_

“Urgh! Wipe that smile off your face. It’s disgusting!”

“Shut up!”

“The date went well, then?”

Crowley looked up from his phone. Warlock and Belle must have finished their game because their undivided attention had now shifted to him.

“No comment.”

A wicket smile broke out on the teenager’s face. “It did!” he exclaimed excitedly, “Did you kiss?”

Crowley thought of Aziraphale’s lips, plush and soft against his own, smooth, warm hands, gracing his skin, thought of bright, blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a clear summer’s day, and a halo of blond curls.

“No comment,” he repeated, his voice much less determined than he intended while his traitorous cheeks felt suspiciously hot.

“Pathetic,” Belle muttered, though Crowley didn’t miss the fondness lurking underneath, the way the corners of their mouth softened.

“So, you’ll see him again?” Warlock asked, sounding way too invested in the whole matter for Crowley’s liking.

“Nghk – Possibly.”

Hopefully.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning: There's some deadnaming happening in this chapter. Not maliciously, exactly - the person (it's Gabriel) doing it immediately corrects himself - but definitely quite ignorant. He's trying but he's also a bit of a twat.

Aziraphale had always been an early riser, getting up with the first rays of sunshine falling through his curtains into the bedroom, enjoying a cup of tea with some jam on toast and a book before going about his day.

But not this morning.

The night had been restless, his mind going round and round in circles, running faster the longer his thoughts raced on.

Crowley throwing his head back in laughter, the long line of his neck delicate and tempting.

The hard lines of Gabriel’s lips pressed together in disapproval, and the coldness of his eyes.

The feeling of Crowley’s hand in his, steady and grounding. A promise of together.

_I am not holding your hand in public, Aziraphale. It’s indecent_ – Gabriel’s words still ringing in his ears, even after all this time.

They were meeting for breakfast – he, Gabriel and Adam. At one of those horrendous coffee shop chains that sprung up in every town like particularly pesky pest. Neutral ground. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to expect from it, to be quite frank. What he was hoping for.

Adam had said that his coming out hadn’t been too bad, that Gabriel was willing to get used to it. He’d also said that Gabriel had seen Crowley and Aziraphale together, walking along the beach. Both were topics Aziraphale wanted to have exactly zero discussions about with his ex-husband.

And yet, here they were, sitting across from each other, surrounded by university student and businesspeople, the background noises filling the spaces created by their heavy silence.

“So,” Gabriel prompted, flashing a smile that made Aziraphale want to cringe, “Eve – my apologies – _Adam_ ,” he stressed the name, pausing as if to let it sink in, as if expecting a reaction. Applause, perhaps, for getting his son’s name right. “—tells me that you have kept quite a lot from me, Aziraphale,” he finished, “Both of you have.” He glanced at Adam who had decided to sit next to Aziraphale.

“I – I – I wouldn’t say that I kept anything from you, per se,” Aziraphale said carefully, “Certainly not on purpose.” He wet his lips, considering his next words. “You – that is – it merely never came up.”

Gabriel scoffed, shaking his head, and quite possibly knowing exactly what Aziraphale was doing – lies by omission were still lies, after all – but thankfully not pointing it out. A small mercy that Aziraphale was more than happy to accept.

“I did wonder,” Gabriel said instead, “If it was that Anthony that put Eve – pardon me – _Adam_ , up to this. He’s a bad influence. I was surprised to see you with him.”

“Crowley had nothing to do with this,” Adam piped up with the tried patience of someone who had repeated the same words over and over already but who still hadn’t been heard.

“Do you love him?” Gabriel ploughed on as if Adam hadn’t said a thing. He was watching Aziraphale, the smile dampened and twisted into something amused, something sceptical. Disbelieving.

“I fail to see how that is in any way relevant.”

“Just don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart, sunshine.”

_He won’t. He wouldn’t._

“If you just gave him a chance –” Aziraphale tried to argue but, of course, Gabriel cut him off.

“A chance? A chance for what, Aziraphale?” he asked sharply, “A chance to disappear? A chance to change his name and run off into the sunset, never to be seen again? A chance to forget about –” Gabriel interrupted himself, his face unusually flushed and filled with emotions Aziraphale couldn’t quite read. Not that he had to.

“You missed him,” he realised.

“Don’t be ridiculous –”

“You did,” Aziraphale insisted, “You thought him dead but never were able to make peace with the fact, and now that you know he’s not –”

“I’m warning you Aziraphale!” Gabriel fell in, his voice much louder than needed to be, causing several of the students and businesspeople around them to look their way. Not too long ago, Aziraphale would have heeded that warning – after all, it wouldn’t do to antagonise Gabriel – except that was then, and this was now. They were in a public place. There wasn’t much Gabriel could do, safe for huffing and puffing indignantly, unless he wanted to make a scene.

“You hold no power over me, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, as calmly as he could, “Not anymore.” It felt good saying it, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and Aziraphale wondered why he had waited this long. “I am truly sorry for what happened to you when you were a child but that is no excuse to let your frustrations out on the family you have now. If you cannot accept Adam for who he is, I suggest you stay away from him. And If you cannot accept that I am dating your brother, I suggest you stay away from me, too.” His hands, shaky and unsteady, reached up to adjust his bowtie while his heart pounded frantically in his chest. “Have a good day,” he concluded and stood up, looking away from Gabriel and towards Adam who, thankfully, had followed his example, his eyes wide with wonder.

“What – Aziraphale!” Gabriel called out, but Aziraphale didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He kept walking, leaving the café and his ex-husband behind while, next to him, Adam grinned and squeezed his hand. Aziraphale squeezed back.


	13. Chapter 13

Crowley hummed under his breath as he wiped down the counter while outside the sun was casting long shadows through the windows. Behind him, Belle was cleaning the coffee machine, cursing under their breath, as they were wont to do in any given situation.

The Space was almost empty safe for Aziraphale, held captive by his book as if the world around him did not exist.

They’d been on two more dates since that first one – a dinner at a cosy, little Italian place, and a picnic over at Beachy Head – each ending in a tentative kiss and rosy cheeks and the promise of _again_.

Aziraphale looked peaceful, sitting there in his corner, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling, his fingers caressing the pages of the book – fingers that have known the feeling of Crowley’s skin, fingers that have held him and had been held by him, fingers that have carded through his hair, gently and lovingly. The light playing in his pale curls, like white gold, like diamonds. He was beautiful.

The other day, Tracy had told Crowley, in confidence, that she was going to move out to the countryside with her partner – if he wouldn’t like to take over the building, she’d asked. The details had yet to be figured out, of course. The idea that had been bugging Crowley for days and days now was back, stronger than ever, rattling at the bars of its cell. A dream of Aziraphale being with him, spending his days in the back room, making a bookshop out of it, perhaps, or a library. Sharing a life. But not yet. Not just yet. It was too soon, of course, too fast.

Not yet.

But soon.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Crowley made a cup of tea and carried it over to his angel.

“On the house,” he declared, setting the tea down right under Aziraphale’s nose, earning himself a blinding smile.

“Oh! Oh, thank you, my dear boy,” he said, closing the book, “I’m afraid I rather lost track of time.”

Crowley bit back a smile. “No worries,” he said, “Listen…I was gonna close up soon and I thought – I thought we could – I thought I could make dinner? For us?”

“Why, that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Just how Crowley was going to survive repeated exposure to Aziraphale’s sincerity and smile, he didn’t know quite yet. Maybe he wouldn’t. But what a way to go. “You can introduce me to your snake,” Aziraphale added, totally unaware of the affects he had on Crowley.

_I’m not going there_ , Crowley thought frantically, choking on his own spit, while his mind very much did go there.

There was a twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes, a twitch in his lips. The bastard knew. Of course, he knew.

“I can introduce to whatever you like,” he croaked out, as soon as he’s recovered enough to get the words out.

Aziraphale blushed, averting his eyes and cradling the cup of tea with his hands.

“Too fast?” Crowley sat down, putting his hand on the table, like an offering.

“A bit,” the blond confessed, looking up through his eyelashes, “But dinner would be lovely.”

He accepted the offer, those beautiful fingers tracing the back of Crowley’s hand, delicately, like something precious, something worth keeping, before taking hold of it.

He knew Belle was probably watching them, making fake gag noises while already writing the speech for the wedding in their head. Not that there would be. A wedding that is.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began, “I –”

Behind Crowley’s back, the door to the Space opened and Aziraphale cut himself off, his eyes going wide.

“What?” Crowley asked, “What is it?”

He turned around.

_Fuck._

The door fell closed behind Gabriel, shutting out the sounds of the streets. Crowley wished it had shut him out as well. He couldn’t do this. Not right now.

“Ahem,” Gabriel cleared his throat, “Hello.”

Crowley was standing – and when had that happened, anyway? – frozen, distantly aware that he was still holding Aziraphale’s hand, while he stared Gabriel. Gabriel stared back.

“You – ahem – you are her,” he said eventually, “Raphaela.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. “I don’t use that name anymore.”

“No. No, of course not.” Gabriel shook his head, taking a tentative step forward. “You kept the J,” he pointed out, his face unreadable.

“I did.”

“We need to talk.”

“We do.”

Next to him, Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I can leave,” he whispered, moving to let go while Crowley strengthened his grip.

“Stay,” he said, “I – stay.”

Something passed over Gabriel’s face, then, something like determination. “Very well.”

“We can – ahh – sit down wherever.” Crowley made a vague gesture at the room. “I’ll – I’ll make coffee or something.”

“Don’t bother,” Belle chipped in. Crowley had all but forgotten they were there. “I’ll do it and head out afterwards.”

“Thanks,” Crowley muttered, giving his friend a grateful smile before leading Aziraphale and Gabriel to one of the tables.

“So…”

“So…” Gabriel echoed, looking around the room in what seemed like less interest and more a desire to not meet Crowley’s eye.

“Why’d you come, Gabriel?” Crowley asked, not unkindly, “What do you want?”

Gabriel’s eyes strayed over to where Belle was pottering around with the mugs, not answering. Then, “To make amends.” Crowley raised his eyebrows, a silent prompt to continue. “It has been brought to my attention that my reaction may have been – inappropriate.”

“So, you - what – want to apologise?”

“I want to understand.”

“Understand what?” Crowley asked, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice, “If you want me to give you a lecture on gender 101 you can fuck right off, ‘cause I –”

“Why you never looked for me,” Gabriel cut in, and Crowley blinked, “Why you never came back.” They were looking at each other now, hazel brown eyes meeting dark blue ones. “Why you disappeared.”

“You missed me,” Crowley realised with a start.

Gabriel glared at him while Aziraphale, Crowley noted, was visibly biting back a smile.

Belle came over, wordlessly setting down the teas in front of them and giving Crowley a nod that could have meant anything from ‘see you tomorrow’ to ‘call me if you need help hiding the body’. Crowley appreciated it either way.

“Will you answer my question?” Gabriel asked, sounding somewhat annoyed.

“Which one?” Crowley countered, “I did look for you. Wasn’t hard what with your bloody face being all over those bloody books. I never left. And I didn’t disappear. You could’ve found me, y’know. If you’d’ve bothered.” He sounded bitter, he realised, much more bitter than he’d intended to, anyway.

“I did,” said Gabriel, “When I turned 18, I did.” Was it just Crowley or did he look sad? “They didn’t tell me anything,” Gabriel continued, “You’d gotten lost in the system. It happens. I thought you were dead.

_I nearly was._

“I ran away,” Crowley explained, “The home they put me in. Not a good place. Not for someone like me.” Years had passed and yet he could still the laughter in his ears, shrill and sinister, could still hear the names and feel the hands grabbing his hair. “They caught up with me, put me back, I kept running,” he continued, taking a shaky breath and feeling grateful for the steady weight of Aziraphale’s hand in his. “Must have given up on me eventually, ‘cause they stopped looking by the time I was 16.” He took a sip from his tea, just to give himself some time before continuing. “Lived on the streets for a bit.” _The cold had wet settling into his bones, clinging to him with claws, long and sharp_. “Squatted in the odd house.” _The fear of being discovered, of someone finding him, someone getting the wrong idea_. “Spend some nights in a cell.” _The smell of piss and sweat and blood in his nose, the hopelessness of grey concrete walls_. “Whatever I could find, really. Got on drugs. Got off ‘em. Belle helped me. We stuck together. Two scrappy kids down on their luck.” Aziraphale’s thumb was rubbing soft circles on his skin, Crowley realised, soothing and comforting. “Then we met Tracy. She whipped some sense into us,” he added, looking over at Gabriel who seemed worryingly pale, “I knew where you were. Hard to miss. Thought about calling, but –” He shook his head. “—You were doing well. No need for me.”

“You blamed me.”

“I blamed myself.”

“I blamed you,” Gabriel stated, casually as you please as if remarking on the weather, the words like a punch to Crowley’s guts, “I don’t anymore.”

“Cheers,” Crowley bit out

“Let bygones be bygones! That’s what I always say.”

“Right.”

“We have to move on from the past so we can live in the future.”

_Holy Mother of Mercury_ , Crowley thought with a pang of desperation, _my brother is an asshole_.

Why exactly he was surprised by that, he didn’t know. He shouldn’t be, all things considered. And yet here he was.

“How about I get us something to eat from the chipper down the road,” Aziraphale all but whispered, breaking the tension that had settled over them.

“You don’t have to,” Crowley said quickly, reluctant to let go of Aziraphale’s hand, “I can cook.”

“And I will look forward to when you do, but I rather think tonight is not that night.” There was a question there, in his eyes, Crowley could see it. A question, and an uncertainty.

“Alright angel.”

Aziraphale got up, slowly letting go off Crowley hand as he did and pressing a kiss to his hair before leaving the Space. Crowley already missed his touch.

“So,” Gabriel said stiffly.

“So?”

“You and Aziraphale.” It was a statement rather than a question, but still Crowley nodded his head.

“Yep.”

Gabriel nodded in kind, clearly unsure of what to say which was, perhaps, for the best.

The silence stretched out, spanning the short distance and long years that lay between them, filled with words left unspoken and unshared memories.

They were brothers.

They were strangers.

“I should leave,” Gabriel announced. Crowley had no idea how much time had passed. One minute? Ten? An hour? “I have to give a lecture in the morning.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be in touch.” A statement, again, disguising a question this time.

Again, Crowley nodded.

“Right.” Gabriel got up from his chair, smoothing out the creases in his suit. “Right,” he said again, pausing a moment before holding out his hand.

Crowley blinked, staring at the offered limb and up at Gabriel’s face, slowly getting to his feet and reaching out with his own hand to shake Gabriel’s.

“I will see you around,” Gabriel said, letting go and stepping back.

“Yeah,” Crowley managed to get out, “See ya.”

They would, most likely, never be close again, Crowley thought after Gabriel had left. Not how they used to be, back then. Too much had happened, too much changed. They were different people now. But perhaps they could be something.

Something like family.

Something like brothers.

Something less than strangers.


	14. Chapter 14

Crowley was standing in the middle of the café when Aziraphale returned, his arms hanging loosely at his sides and his eyes blindly staring off into the middle-distance.

Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

“Here you go, my dear,” he said, holding up the plastic bag with their fish and chips.

Crowley blinked, his eyes growing more focused. “Thanks,” he muttered, “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Crowley took the bag. “Let – er – let’s go upstairs. To eat. The flat. If you want.”

“I do.”

For weeks they’d known each other now, and he’d never seen Crowley’s home. It felt like entering a sacred space, an admission of trust. The flat was clean. Tidy. There was no clutter, no knickknacks or trinkets or messiness. Everything had its place. And yet Aziraphale felt oddly at home. The sleek, modern lines of the furniture, the shades of grey and black, the meticulously kept order – it was beautifully, unmistakably _Crowley_.

There was a terrarium in the corner, filled with luscious green plants and, there, half-hidden by the leaves, a beautiful black snake.

“Tha’s Lucifer,” Crowley said from somewhere behind his back over the rustling of the plastic bag.

“She’s very pretty,” Aziraphale told him, leaning down a bit to get a closer look.

“Don’t. It’ll go to her head.”

Smiling to himself, Aziraphale looked into the snake’s dark eyes. “You’re very pretty,” he whispered before righting himself and turning back around to where Crowley was unpacking their dinner on the coffee table.

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah,” Crowley answered, pointing at sofa, “You can sit down.”

Modern as it was, the sofa was quite comfortable, Aziraphale found as he happily wiggled into the upholstery, leaning back against the cushions and watching Crowley retrieve forks and knives and two cans of cider.

“May I ask,” Aziraphale began, accepting the cutlery, “What Gabriel said after I left?”

“Not much,” Crowley answered, opening his dinner and plopping a chip into his mouth, “He’ll be in touch.”

“Anything – ah – anything about – about me?”

Crowley paused for a moment, glancing over at Aizraphale, a slight crease between his brows. “He’s a bit of an asshole, isn’t he?” he said eventually, “I don’t think he treated you very well.”

“He didn’t.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak but there was no doubt Crowley heard. “He didn’t treat me well. It took me a long time to see, but – but I do now.”

Crowley nodded. “Good. That you know, I mean.”

“Rather,” Aziraphale agreed, “You helped me, actually.” Crowley’s eyebrows migrated north, up to his hairline. “You showed me kindness.”

Crowley opened his mouth, quite possibly to disagree, but then seemed to think better of it, reaching out and placing his hand on Aziraphale’s forearm. “You’re an easy person to be kind to.” It sounded like a confession, small, yet powerful, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled in his chest.

“All that hurt,” he said, “All that cruelty. All that fear.” He shook his head, taking Crowley’s hand in his. “I hate that you had to experience that. And yet, I’m also grateful that it brought you here. And I’m grateful that I get to be with you like this. Together.”

“Together,” Crowley echoed, a minute smile on his lips.

It was modest, as far as dates went, and yet for Aziraphale it couldn’t be more perfect. Sitting here, in Crowley’s domain, Lucifer’s watchful eyes on them, eating their greasy take-away and drinking their shitty, canned cider. There would be time to talk more, time to make plans, time to pick up speed and a destination. For now, however, they were simply walking, side by side, palm to palm, into the same direction. Together.

Aziraphale smiled and picked up a chip with the hand that wasn’t holding Crowley’s, content and happy and relaxed and, maybe, a little bit in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's it. I'm not sure if I'm happy with the end but I've also been struggling with this for literal months now and at some point you just gotta cut your losses and move on. Could have been worse I suppose.  
> There may be a second part coming at some point, but for now I need to concentrate on something else.   
> And on college.   
> College is important too.


End file.
